Midnight Requisition
by Lazarus Saturday
Summary: While on a mission in the Swiss Alps, veteran agent Caradoc of the Dutch branch finds himself seemingly set up; he and his partner, Gawain, believes something is on the rise. Something powerful enough to take on Kingsman itself, and win. Something capable of more than what Valentine could have ever achieved. And they're determined to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

**Theme:** Paris Blohm & Steerner ft. Paul Aiden - Fight Forever

 **Chapter 1**

"Hey."

Caradoc blinked once, twice, and faced his partner. "I'm fine."

"I'm not asking if you're fine," Gawain said, tying her coffee-brown hair back in a bun. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"There's plenty of other people."

"Tristan's stealing the limelight."

Caradoc looked across to the seat opposite him, where a blonde man was excitedly recounting the tale of how he escorted Princess Tilde back to Sweden.

"She kept mentioning you, Galahad," Tristan said.

All eyes turned to the figure sitting closest to the ramp on Caradoc's side who just smiled. "You cheeky bastards."

"So I heard some rumours on the way back, and...you like the princess, Galahad?"

Galahad's reply was drowned out by a chorus of laughter. He rolled his eyes and looked back down at the helmet in his hands.

The world around them turned red.

"Helmets!" Galahad ordered.

Caradoc lifted his, and placed it over his head. The heads-up display came to life, blocky numbers displaying his current altitude as well as incoming communications.

The deafening rush of wind began as the ramp opened like a jaw. Caradoc saw Gawain frown as she caught sight of the featureless grey clouds below them.

"I thought you liked skydiving."

"I do. I also like to be able to actually see the target before I jump."

He shrugged. "Fair enough."

The on the wall shone a vibrant green, and Galahad launched himself off it, disappearing into the grey.

In pairs, the Kingsmen dove off the ramp. To Caradoc, it felt like flying. He was assailed by a grey maelstrom, its roar as loud as a lion's, and then suddenly it was gone, replaced by the shrill whistle of wind and the lights of a military compound far below them.

They glided in silence.

At three hundred feet, the red parachute icon appeared in Caradoc's visor. He reached behind him and yanked the cord.

The dark blue parachute blossomed out of his pack, almost the same colour as the night sky, and he was jerked upwards. Below him, more parachutes exploded out of their containers, blanketing his field of view.

Below him, the ground expanded, and rushed straight at him.

Caradoc landed feet-first on the soft dirt, before releasing the chute.

The sound of gunfire reached them. Team One had landed.

Galahad produced a pair of heavy bolt cutters, and snipped away at the wire mesh in the fence. He pulled a section large enough for one man to fit through off, and ducked into the compound.

Gawain signalled Caradoc, and the two broke off to the left, towards a blocky building. There were two men in black military gear, their backs to them and their rifles aimed at the main gate.

Caradoc let loose a short burst from his silenced MP5, stitching a trio of holes into the closest man's back, the uppermost round going straight through the top of his spine.

The other soldier turned, and had three holes drilled into him by Gawain.

He kicked the door open, into an empty stairwell. The gunfire outside was getting closer, the tat-tat-tat of Team One's unsilenced weapons getting more clear by the second.

"Take the second floor," Caradoc ordered, kicking open the first floor fire escape doors, into a corridor with several doors on both sides. Keeping his gun aimed down the hall, he peeked inside the first room.

A soldier was talking on the phone to someone Caradoc couldn't hear.

He ducked and continued along the corridor, checking the room one by one. He was just getting to the fifth one on the left when he heard a door opening.

Caradoc spun, and kicked the soldier in the head, sending him tumbling back into the room he had just come out of. He jumped onto his prone body, combat knife in hand, and pressed its tip into his throat.

He poked his head out of the room's door, just in time to see the soldier who had been on the phone, pistol in hand, squeeze off a round, shouting.

Caradoc pulled a cylindrical grenade from his belt, removed the pin and rolled it into the corridor.

A bright flash in the corridor, accompanied by an ear-shattering _bang_ told Caradoc it was safe to emerge. He ran down the corridor, giving each of the doors a fleeting glance.

Through the second last door, he saw the doctor.

He fired a burst from his gun into the lock ,and kicked the door in. "Doctor Fischer!"

The bearded, bespectacled man raised his hands above his head, shaking. "Don't shoot!"

"We have to leave, doctor. I'm here to help."

Caradoc felt his shoulder jerk back. He used the momentum to throw himself backwards onto the floor, and pulled the trigger on his gun, blowing red holes in the soldier who had shot him.

A hand lowered itself into his vision, and he took it. Gawain pulled him to his feet, looking at the crushed slug that that failed to penetrate his body armour.

"Take the doctor first," he said, waving at Fischer to come over. He slipped into the lab and whipped out a small flash drive, plugging it into the first USB port he saw. The program inside executed itself, and a progress bar appeared on the screen to indicate the copied percentage.

Caradoc walked around the steel cube on the central table, his eyes tracing the wires that came out of its top and around it. He put a hand on it, and jerked away. It was cold, even through his gloves.

"What's this?" he muttered to himself, leaning over it to look inside.

A cylindrical container, made of glass, was attached to the inside of the cube. A much smaller sphere was suspended inside it, a shiny black colour.

"Dirk!"

He turned around to see Gawain standing at the door he had shot in.

"Is it done?"

Caradoc glanced at the screen, where the progress bar was just advancing past halfway. "Still a bit to go. Take a look at this."

Gawain stepped into the room, and towards the cube. "What is it?"

"I'm guessing a weapon of some sort. Poor doctor was forced to make it or something like that."

"It can't be good." Gawain tapped the glass cylinder with a finger. "Maybe we should take it."

Caradoc wrapped his arms around the cube and heaved. It didn't budge. He reached his fingers down the sides of the cube.

The bottom edges of the cube were welded to the steel table.

"Who sticks a weapon to a table?"

"Lift the whole table?"

"Seems like it's bolted down."

Gawain pulled the USB drive out just as the progress bar filled completely. "We can ask the good doctor later. Come on." She skipped out the door.

Caradoc grabbed the glass cylinder with both hands and yanked. Still, it refused to move out of its place.

A blue light came on inside the cube.

He let go and headed for the door.

A steel shutter had been placed over it, impeding him. "Shit." He banged his fist on it repeatedly. "Valerie!"

He heard footsteps on the other side, and then Gawain's muffled swearing through the thick steel shutter.

"Is there an override or something?"

"I don't see one."

A high-pitched hum emanated from the box. "I think it's a bomb!" He grabbed another table, which wasn't bolted, and covered the box with it.

The hum was growing louder.

He shoved a shelf at the central table, and pressed himself into the cover of the room, facefirst.

Even after he'd closed his eyes, there was a bright flash.

* * *

Klaas Hekkers looked down at the smartphone in his hand, and frowned. "I'm sorry," he said to the cute blonde sitting opposite him. "I've got...business to attend to."

"Aw, can't you stay?"

"He shook his head, flashing her a smile. "I wish I could." He pocketed his phone and waved at his driver, who brought the limo up to the sidewalk.

He winked at her before entering the car.

"You got that?"

"Yeah," said the suited man in the backseat. "Who's stupid enough to try hack you?"

"Stupid people don't realise they're stupid. How quickly can we restart everything?"

"An hour or two. Then you'll be back with her."

"Scratch that, I don't like her hair."

"Whatever you say, sir. Shall I schedule another one?"

"Friday."

Hekkers watched the pillar-like profile of his skyscraper come into view. He took a sip of water from a bottle, and opened the door.

The lobby would have been mistaken for a hotel's if not for the numerous armed guards standing around. Hekkers turned off the red carpet, past the statue of a golden bird rising from a flame and into an elevator in the right wall, inserting a key into its slot, and turning it.

The "Penthouse" button lit up.

The first thing Hekkers saw when the elevator opened was a body. One of his personal guards, shot in the head and slumped against the kitchen counter.

"Hello, Klaas."

His eyes flickered to the man shrouded in shadow, sitting on a chair that had been moved into the centre of the room, and the light above it turned off. "What do you want?"

"To be your friend."

Hekkers' hand moved towards the lobby button.

There was a _thump_ and a hole appeared in the elevator wall just beside where his head was. "Don't press it, for your own sake. Step out of the elevator."

"How'd you get in here?"

"Step out. Of. The elevator."

Taking a deep breath, Hekkers moved one foot out, then the other.

"I sent you a message," the man said.

"I get a lot of messages every day."

"But your security staff won't, since I've put the cameras on loop."

"Who're you?"

"Check my message."

Hekkers slowly removed his phone from his pocket, and checked the messages. He came to one that was sent that morning:

 _Phoenix Securities Compound Attacked_

"I've read this a hundred times."

"So have my bosses. I understand your company was paid to protect a very valuable asset."

"You didn't tell me he was being hunted."

"Mr. Hekkers, I know who might be behind that."

"Who?"

"Kingsman."

"What's that?"

"If I tell you, what are you going to do?"

"Wipe them off the surface of the Earth."

Although he couldn't make out any features, he could feel the man smiling at him in the darkness. "Very well, Mr. Hekkers. Are you going to stand there or are you going to grab a chair?"

Hekkers reached over the kitchen counter and procured a stool, setting it just outside the radius of darkness around the man.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded. He neither trusted the man, nor knew why he was doing this, but he knew what the alternative was. "Tell me about this...Kingsman."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Gawain, my office," said the afro-european man.

Gawain nodded slightly and walked after him. She ascended a flight of spiralling stairs and through a heavy wooden door. She emerged into a semi-circular room at the peak of one of the towers, where Sagramore had set up his office, with an ancient wooden desk, a bear hide carpet, and electric braziers on the walls. Dusty bookshelves were lined up behind the seat, untouched for years.

Sagramore, the head of the Dutch Kingsmen branch, sat down with a sigh on the worn leather armchair.

Gawain pulled the other armchair out, and dropped herself onto it. "Is this about Caradoc?"

"Partly." Sagramore picked a thick cigar from the stand on his desk, and produced a golden lighter. He held the end of the cigar to the orange flame, and then inhaled from the other end, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, they were stone cold. "I'm getting sick of covering these missions."

"Three months. Then we have the Germans fully functioning again."

"I know that. It's just...this is all a bit rushed, isn't it?"

Gawain nodded, but said nothing. Ever since V-day, their agents no longer knew who they could trust, especially after Arthur had switched sides. The same thing went for the German branch.

"I'm thinking of transferring some of them."

"Pardon?"

"The new recruits. One for you."

She furrowed her brow. "With all due respect, sir, we might want to devote our resources into finding the people who hired Dr. Fischer to cr-"

"Noted, Gawain. Don't let your emotions get in the way."

"They are not in the way."

"Take it easy, Gawain. What happened, happened. You're not responsible for any of that."

"At least let me make it right."

Sagramore paused to inhale more cigar smoke, then blew it into the air. "You're suspended for three months."

Her mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Clearly, you can't make proper decisions right now. I'm taking you off the case for three months."

She said nothing.

"You can train your recruit in the meanwhile. She's arriving tomorrow."

"But-"

"But nothing, Gawain," he interrupted. "Who knows what you'll do if I let you go after them? I can't lose any more agents."

Fists shaking, Gawain stood up and strode out of the office.

She took the steps one-by-one. Halfway down, her spectacles received a call. "Yes?"

"Val, you have some time?" It was the voice of Oberon, the in-house techie, not dissimilar to Merlin himself. Although Oberon stuck mostly to online support and information analysis, he was known to have dabbled in many fields of sciences.

She swallowed before answering. "Yeah, I do."

"I've got some prototypes I want you to test out."

"That's great, when do we start?"

"Now, if you want. My lab."

Gawain hung up and took a deep breath. She exhaled ever so slowly, puffed her chest, and walked down the stairs.

Oberon's laboratory was on the third floor of the castle, squeezed between the armoury and his own office. It was a plain white - white tables, white walls, white lab coats, even white gas tanks. Oberon himself was standing at one of the tables, and assortment of items laid out in front of him.

She put one hand on the metal handle of the lab door, paused, and then pushed it open. "What have you got?"

Oberon gestured to one of the stools on the opposite side of the table from him. "So I decided to tinker with some gear you don't usually wear."

"Like what?" She sat on one of the stools and clasped her hands together on the tabletop.

"Cufflinks." Oberon held two square-shaped ones up. "The left side contains a small amount of strychnine. You can slip it into a drink when they're not looking."

"What about the right side?"

"A cell phone jammer."

"What, that small?"

"Bear with me." Oberon turned the right cufflink, which was slightly thicker, over, revealing a little switch in the back, as well as a mini-USB port. "I had to take a lot of stuff out, mainly the battery, so it's only got power for two hours."

"Two hours is enough time to catch and kill someone. Well done, Oberon." She stood up.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look too good today. No offense, I mean, but you seem a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Gawain said.

"What on your mind?"

She shook her head.

"Sit down, Val."

She placed herself on the lab stool again, looking down at her neatly manicured nails. "Sagramore took me off the Phoenix thing."

"Why would he do that?"

"You know why."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

Gawain took another deep breath, and exhaled it like before. She blinked a few times before locking eyes with Oberon. "He said that my emotions were clouding my decision-making. That I wasn't fit for duty."

"Have you considered that he might be right?" Oberon sat on the table, a look she had seen before in his eyes. Concern, with a side serving of curiosity.

"...yes, I have."

"For how long?"

"Three months. And he's going to have me train someone from UK HQ."

"That's a bit harsh."

"That's what he gave me."

Oberon pursed his lips, and got off the table. "I do have some good news for you." He turned his clipboard tablet computer to her, a video recording of Fischer's cell. The doctor was curled up in one corner, while Oberon himself stood in the middle of the room. "I got him to...spill the beans. Is that how you say it?"

"Yes, it is. What did he give you on the bomb?"

"He didn't. He didn't even know it was a bomb. I know, he built it, but he was only following instructions."

"So why hire him at all?"

Oberon swiped the screen, bringing up a detailed report with Fischer's face in the top right corner. "He apparently has worked at CERN before, that might be why."

After a long pause, Gawain frowned. "What do you mean?"

Oberon sighed. "CERN experiments with antimatter. We believe that's what was in the bomb. Fischer was simply hired because he knew how to handle it properly."

"You could have just said that."

"Moving on…" He changed to a blurry image of the night sky. "Look closely."

Gawain leaned towards the image. She could just make out a plane-like shape against the sky.

"That's a surveillance drone. We couldn't shoot it down in time."

"Someone was watching us?"

"Looks like it. I'm afraid I can't show you anymore." He frowned at the screen. "Sagramore just locked me out as well."

She stood up again. "I'm going to see Dirk."

"The operation isn't over yet."

"I'm going to see him," she repeated, pushing the lab door open. She quickly made her way down the stairs, to the main hall on the first floor. She strode across the gold-trimmed red carpet towards the large metal double-doors, which ground open automatically.

Gawain walked quickly across the damp grass, towards the main road. A matte-black Mercedes Benz was parked on the side of the road, along two others.

She pressed a button on her car keys, unlocking the second vehicle. Gawain got into the driver's seat, inserted the key and turned it. The Mercedes' engine game to life, growling softly.

Gawain stared down the road, at the city in the distance.

Then, she stepped on the accelerator.

* * *

The clinic smelled like...well, a clinic, or a hospital, and it was a smell that Gawain hated. It was the smell that accompanied her to the hospital, where her mother had died, and the smell where her brother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. To her, it smelled of death.

She ignored the greeter, instead heading straight for the Asian man in the doctor's coat standing in the corner of the reception area, talking to two nurses.

"Doctor Wallace." She held out a hand.

He took it in his own meaty palm and shook it limply. "How can I help you?"

"I've come to see a friend who's being operated on right now. He was...burned severely in an accident."

"Mr. Beumers? He's still i-"

"I know. How long until it's done?"

"An hour, at this point. Doctor Owens is very good, so the recovery will only take two hours. So, three in total."

"Can I wait here?"

"Of course! May I ask, are you his…?"

"Oh, goodness no. I'm just a colleague, really. We work together on the job. So, three hours?"

"I'll have the nurse bring you refreshments if you want."

"There's no need, doctor."

"Oh, I insist!" He disappeared through a "Staff Only" door.

Gawain sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, leaned back and closed her eyes. He's going to be okay, she told herself.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

The suited man looked through his binoculars at the Mercedes plodding gently along the road, and coming to stop in front of a small plastic surgery clinic. He help the radio to his lips. "Target just stopped moving. Some sort of clinic."

"Good," said Hekkers from the other end. "Have you identified her?"

"Not, I couldn't get a clear photo. Taking another one when she comes out."

"Just find out who she is, Jonas."

"Is she from this 'Kingsman' thing?" Jonas asked.

"Yes. It's imperative that we get rid of them."

"I don't trust your friend."

"That man is not my friend. Now keep watching the entrance, and have someone watching the back too, in case she gets paranoid."

"Already done. I've been doing this for years, Klaas."

"Just don't fail this time."

"Yeah, yeah." Jonas switched his earpiece off, and lowered his binoculars. He grabbed the .50 cal sniper rifle that was leaning against the edge of the roof, and pointed it at the clinic door.

He unfolded the bipod, setting it on the room's edge, and flicked the scope cover open. Jonas stared at the walking pedestrians through the scope, watching them go through their peaceful, idyllic lives.

That was about to change.

He moved the crosshair from the pregnant woman, to the athlete out for a morning jog, to the businessman late for his meeting. How they were so ignorant, living in an endless cycle of sleeping, waking and work, with no control over their own destinies, he didn't know. There was a time when he'd been like them, but then again, that was before he met Klaas Hekkers.

He aimed the rifle back at the door of the clinic. Once the woman emerged, he would pull the trigger, and she would die. And then they'd finally know who she was, for all the trouble she had caused. That they had caused.

Jonas waited.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The moment Caradoc looked into the mirror, he instantly regretted the decision. Although he still recognised himself, even the best surgeons Kingsman could find weren't able to fully restore his appearance. The glass eye, and the jagged scar just below it, was a testament to that.

His memory was blurry at most. He remembered a blue light, a flash, and the next thing he knew, Gawain was dragging him towards a transport helicopter. He'd fallen asleep, before waking up on an operating table.

He'd almost hoped he was dead when the doctor explained what had happened in the Alps.

"Mr. Beumers."

Caradoc jumped. "You scared me, nurse."

"There's someone here to see you."

He sat on the bed, exhaling sharply.

The nurse's form was replaced by Gawain's slender shape. "Hey there."

"Hi," Caradoc said simply, staring at the floor.

There was the sound of metal chair legs scraping across the floor, and then her sitting down. She was wearing standard issue Oxfords.

His one good eye traced the edges along her shoe, and back. And back again.

"I brought you a sandwich."

Paper crinkling, and a plastic bag being crushed.

"It's your favourite. Turkey Mayo, right? From your favourite place down the street as we-"

"I quit," he said, locking his eye with her left one. His hands scrunched the blankets beneath him, soaking it with his sweat.

Gawain said nothing. She put the sandwich back and the bag and set it down next to her chair, swallowing.

"Valerie, I want you to go back to Sagramore and tell him that I no longer want anything to do with Kingsman, okay?"

She didn't reply.

"Val?"

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Oh my god." He touched her cheek with his hand. "I'm sorry, Valerie."

Gawain looked up at him, her eyes red and wet. She opened her mouth to say something, but choked on her own words.

"I can't do this any more. I just...I just can't."

"You're just going to stop?" Her voice broke at the last word. "You're going to just leave me like this?"

"It's not like I can go on."

"Then go to hell." She stormed out of the room, pushing past a nurse who was checking in on the commotion.

Caradoc sat in silence as the nurse picked up the plastic bag with his sandwich in it. "If you don't mind, what as all that?"

"I do mind. Get out of my room."

The nurse silently backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Caradoc laid back on his bed, pulling the sheets over his body. It broke his heart to admit, but Gawain couldn't handle the truth. He was done for. Kaput. Half-blind, he'd be stuck at a desk job like Oberon, and that wasn't a future he was content with.

He was on the brink of sleep when the distinctive report of a high-caliber sniper rifle from just outside the clinic.

Caradoc opened the door and ran out, ignoring the protests of the doctor who had done his surgery. He rushed past the glass doors out front, and looked along the roofs of building along the street. Two roofs down on the right, something glinted in the sunlight.

"Valerie!"

She was lying - no, she was _crawling_ \- on the pavement, a thin trickle of blood seeping from her stomach through her fingers. She had managed to throw herself against a car, denying the sniper a line of sight.

Armed men were moving down the street, submachine guns raised.

Caradoc neither knew who they were, or what they wanted with Gawain, but in five seconds flat he found himself sprinting towards them on the right side of the road, past the civilians and forcing his fist into the sternum of one of the gunmen.

He wrapped an arm around the man's throat, and flipped him between himself and the other men. Caradoc ducked behind a car. With a single twisting motion, he broke the man's neck.

The gun in his hands was an MP7. He poked his head out.

One of the shooters was coming towards him.

Caradoc took several steps back, and ran. At the passenger door, he kicked forwards with both legs, sliding along the road. He reached out with the MP7 in one hand and sprayed.

The gunman coming for him failed to react in time and was thrown back a few feet by the force of the bullets, leaving a red snail trail.

The man going for Gawain turned around and fired.

Caradoc ran along the sidewalk, firing back at the man, but at that range, nothing connected. He dove behind Gawain's Mercedes and checked his clip.

Three rounds left.

He popped out and squeezed one at the wall between Gawain and the shooter, causing the latter to duck around a corner.

With the last two rounds, Caradoc aimed at the window of Gawain's car, and fired. Although it was made of bulletproof glass, the twin armour-piercing rounds impacting the exact same spot shattered it.

He reached inside and grabbed her umbrella from the passenger seat.

Caradoc opened the umbrella, and emerged from the cover, bending low to block his entire body. Through it, he saw the gunman lean out of cover, and fire.

The bullets bounced off the canopy of the umbrella, and Caradoc twisted the handle, setting the launcher to "Lethal". He pulled the umbrella release button.

A 9mm bullet launched out of the hole in the umbrella's tip, smashing through the gunman's ribcage and into his heart.

Caradoc turned the umbrella towards the roof behind him, just in time for a .50 caliber-sized hole to appear in it.

The sniper retreated from the ledge.

He scrambled over to Gawain, her eyes half-closed, and pulled off her glasses, placing them on his own face. "Oberon!"

"Dirk? What are yo-"

"Val is shot! Call an ambulance!"

"On its way. What happened?"

"I'll tell you later." He whipped off the glasses, folding their legs and placing them on Gawain's lap. Out of the corner of his eye, a truck was heading towards them at a high speed.

He grabbed Gawain's lighter from her jacket, flipped it open and slid it down the sidewalk, towards the vehicle.

The explosion threw the car into the air, flipping it over backwards.

Caradoc pressed his hands to Gawain's stomach, applying pressure to stop the blood flow. "You're going to be okay, Val. It's gonna be alright."

The ambulance sirens drowned him out. A pair of paramedics rushed to Gawain's side, a third with a stretcher.

Caradoc liberated Gawain's pistol from her jacket, and turned to the overturned car. A man, sniper rifle in hand, had just managed to free his leg from the crushed door. At the sight of Caradoc, he dropped his gun and sprinted for the intersection corner.

Caradoc aimed and squeezed a couple of rounds off, earning shouts of surprise from the paramedics. His bullets took off small chunks of brick from the building.

"Get her to hospital!" he shouted at the paramedics, then took off running.

He emerged around the corner just in time to see the sniper disappear behind the policemen standing in a line, into a crowd of civilians.

"Drop your weapon!" an officer shouted at him.

Caradoc looked at the gun in his hand, and knelt, placing it on the concrete sidewalk. He raised his hand above his head as officers surrounded him, and a pair of gleaming silver handcuffs was secured around his wrists.

* * *

Jonas sat down inside the van, out of breath. he called Hekkers on his smartwatch. "I couldn't get her."

"What?"

"There was a second one. He was fast. Killed all the men. Almost killed me, too."

"You had one job."

"Fuck you, Klaas. Who are these people anyway? He had a fucking bulletproof umbrella!"

"A bulletproof _what?_ "

"Umbrella. Even had a gun in it or something, shot one of our guys dead."

Klaas didn't reply.

"I almost fucking died. Your friend didn't tell you this? He trying to get us killed, huh?"

"He's not my friend. No, he didn't tell me. Shit, fuck, what am I supposed to do?"

"Kill him. He's probably one of them."

"If he was one of them you'd be dead already, Jonas. Dammit." There was a long pause. "At least you covered your tracks well. Locals?"

"Locals."

"Use the backup safehouse - they'll figure out our main one. I'll call you there."

Jonas exhaled sharply. "Alright." He hung up, and looked up at the van's ceiling. There was going to be a massive change of plans.

* * *

Caradoc had never seen Oberon so angry before, and now that he did, he wish he hadn't. The techie wasn't angry at him - that was beside the point - but rather at himself.

"After the UAV thing, I should have been watching her." He balled a piece of note paper up and flung it at the lab wall.

Caradoc picked idly through Oberon's new gear. "It's not your fault and you know it."

"I was playing around with the shoes. If I had even considered the possibility that she was going to be at-"

"It's not your fault!" Caradoc teetered a little at his own outburst. He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry."

Oberon slumped on a stool in defeat. "We're set back another month, aren't we? You…" He indicated his own left eye. "And now Val."

"I'm still fit for duty. You know that."

"No offense, but, with only one eye, your observation skills are pretty much down the drain. You can't be a Kingsman. A field agent, at least."

"And you want me to just sit here? Doing nothing?"

"What I do isn't nothing. Without an intelligence officer Kingsman is as blind as a bat."

Caradoc glared at him.

"Sorry, that was the first simile that came to mind. I didn't mean to."

The sound of the door opening made them both turn to see Sagramore, shadows under his eyes, standing there. A solemn look was plastered on his face. "Gentlemen."

"How is she?" Caradoc spun around on his stool.

"Valerie is fine. But you, Dirk, are not."

"I'm after them."

"And get yourself killed? What purpose would that serve? It's better if you wait for her to recover, and support her on the mission. You do know her best, after all."

"Did you read my report?"

"I haven't had the time."

"Well, they know what we're capable of now. And from the looks of it, they're not going to stop until we're all dead."

Sagramore shook his head. "Oberon, how's the plates?"

"A hundred euros says it's Phoenix," Caradoc said. "We fucked them us, now they're fucking us back."

"Dunno, sir, it's still running," Oberon said.

"Just let me do it, sir. If we wait any more, they'll have more time to strike against us. At least investigate Phoenix."

Sagramore frowned, but said nothing.

"Sir?"

He looked Caradoc in the eyes. "Alright. But investigation only. Any trouble and you come straight back here, understand?"

Caradoc let out a breath. "Thank you, sir. I won't get into trouble, I promise."

"Very well. Oberon, message me when you have the plates." Sagramore left the lab, heading back up the stairs to his office.

Sagramore disappeared out of sight. "Oh, no you didn't," Oberon groaned, his head slumping on the tabletop.

"I can't just leave this."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Find out who the sniper is. And beat the shit out of him. With or without your support."

After a long, drawn-out sigh, Oberon looked up. "Fine, I'm in."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Gawain woke to the sound of snoring. Really, really loud snoring. She opened her eyes to find that her vision swam, the light from the open window at the other end of the room distorted into waves. Overhead, she could just make out the shape of a circular ceiling lamp, turned off. Even in her daze, she recognised the environment.

She was in her bedroom.

Every single nerve in her lower abdomen burned. She put both hands on the mattress, and pushed. A low groan escaped her throat as she placed herself in a sitting position, and tears formed in her eyes.

Tears.

She remembered crying about...something. Her memory was a foggy haze at most, but she recalled the sound of a gunshot, and blood. A lot of blood, probably her own.

The snoring stopped. "Oh, you're awake."

Gawain blinked the tears out of her eyes, and turned to see Caradoc sitting back, his eyes half-closed on one of the wicker chairs scattered around her home. "What happened?"

"You were shot."

"By whom?"

"I don't know. He escaped, but we have the gun. Oberon got a serial number off of it." He rubbed his eyes and sat up straight.

She smiled. "I thought I recognised the snore." And she did. From all those times she had woken up beside him, sometimes in the very bed she was on. But those days were long gone.

"Is it that strange?"

"You're the only one I know who snores like a an elephant with the flu."

"Oh, shut up." He cracked a smile. "You feeling alright?"

"Everything down here hurts." She reached out a hand to touch the area just below her ribs, and winced when a sharp pain shot through the rest of her torso.

Caradoc grabbed her hand. "One of your ribs was snapped off completely. The doctor had to use a metal brace to put it back in place."

"The doctor...how long was I asleep?"

"Three days. And I think you need a few more."

"No, I'm fine. You're not my dad." She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I need to get to HQ."

"If you're talking about Maleagant, she's doing fine without you."

"Who?"

"The new recruit. Oberon's kept her busy while you were being Sleeping Beauty."

"Well, I need to train her."

"You're injured."

"I'm fine and you know it. Remember Baghdad?"

"You don't have a light machine gun this time, Val."

"How many did I take out?"

Caradoc sigh. "Fine, twenty-seven. To be fair, it was a flesh wound."

"You said it looked like a nightmare."

"So the paramedic would get you out of there. Although, you did completely halt their offensive."

"See? I'll be fine." She put both feet on the floor and stood up, grimacing at the throbbing in her chest.

"Hey, easy." Caradoc put one of her arms around his neck, and guided her towards the door. "This is exactly how I felt after the bomb went off."

"Oh, you."

"What? I couldn't walk for a week!"

"Stop making my problems seem small." She shrugged him away and took small steps towards the bathroom. "Will you go down and make some tea?"

"You drink tea?"

"Come on, you've known me for five years."

"And not once have I seen you with a cup of tea."

"Lancelot mailed me some after that thing in Stockholm. Darjeeling, I think. Been trying to go through the box for a year now."

"Lancelot? James or Roxy?"

"Roxy. James was a coffee person." She pushed the bathroom door open, and slipped inside. Gawain slipped out of her nightgown, and stood in the shower stall, turning the hot water up.

"You still got the packaging for the tea?"

"Why?"

"Just...do you still collect the addresses?"

"Sure, kitchen counter." She turned the shower on, and stood there until the hot water ran out.

* * *

Klaas hated waiting. And he hated himself for being so impatient. When he had grown up in the slums all those years ago, he learned to wait, to bide time, for the right opportunity. And now he'd become just like those he had opposed - the upper class of Amsterdam, who flaunted their riches and privileges while the boys he knew worked day and night for barely a fraction of what they earned.

So he had his reckoning. When Phoenix achieved global success, he had donated much of his fortune to charities around the world, hoping to relieve the poor of the suffering he had once experience. But he had underestimated the extent of the corruption which had flowed even into these charities, and only a part of his money went where he wanted it to.

Klaas eyed his own shaking leg, and mentally gave the command to stop. He was becoming more and more like them, and there was not much he could do about it. Power corrupted; that was unavoidable.

He looked up at the large brass plaque behind the reception counter, at the smooth cursive writing cut into it.

" _He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."_

 _-Freidrich Neitzsche_

Once upon a time, he had a hold on that. Now, a flame was lit up inside him, containing all the anger aimed at himself for become like _them_.

"How many guns?"

Klaas snapped out of his daydream, and watched the clean-shaven man in his forties sit down opposite him. As before, he wore a cream-coloured suit, and his hair was styled thinly.

"I asked you a question."

"I wasn't listening."

"I said how many guns?"

Typical Garth Hendricksen. Unlike the members of Kingsman, the people Garth worked for did not feel the need to erase the identities of their agents from every database in existence. "Seven."

"What, the receptionist too? Don't bother. Where's that boy of yours?"

"Jonas? He's away."

"Shame."

"You withheld information from us. Jonas nearly died. Go figure."

Garth smiled. "And if I had told you about the umbrella, would you have taken me seriously? No, you wouldn't have. The result would have been the same. Consider it...a lesson. For both you and Jonas."

"Give me a reason to not pump you full of lead right now."

"Oh, well, I've a plan."

"Your 'plan' almost got my head of security killed. You either walk that door, or we're going to have a problem."

"Two."

"What?"

"Two guns left. You think I came alone?"

Klaas' hand shot for the derringer inside his jacket.

The cold titanium silencer barrel pressed against the back of his neck. "Hand out slowly, monsieur."

Klass removed his shaking hand from inside his jacket. He flicked his eyes towards the receptionist, who was drawing her pistol.

He heard fabric ruffling and something hit her in the forehead, smacking her against the wall. She slid down it, unconscious.

The silencer came into view, attached to a Beretta M9 pistol, and held by a thin man with high cheekbones and a sharp chin. The Frenchman sat down and, keeping the pistol aimed at Klass' face, smiled. "Zero."

"Now, let's talk business," Garth said.

* * *

"You could just ask her for some, you know?" Gawain said, poking a head into the kitchen doorway. She was wearing one of her other bulletproof suits, in this case a grey bespoke.

Caradoc's eyes widened, and he re-buttoned his jacket. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you stuff the tea in there. Open."

"I didn't do anything."

Gawain sighed, and sat down on a kitchen stool. "I'm feeling a lot better now. There's a problem, though."

"Yes?"

"How'd I get in the nightgown?"

Caradoc turned beet red. "I...I changed you."

"Dirk!" She couldn't see it, but her cheeks burned.

"Your clothes had blood all over them. It's not proper to sleep in those."

She shook her head. "Nevermind. I need to get back to HQ."

"Have you seen the new girl? She's hella cute."

"Oi, you know the rules. Did you drive here?"

"How else?"

"Give me the keys."

"Ah, you're not driving. I am. Now be a good agent and get in the passenger outside." He produced his car remote, and pressed a button.

Gawain rolled her eyes and left the kitchen, opening her front door and stepping out of her moderately-sized home on the fringes of Amsterdam's suburbs. She took a deep breath of the morning air - it didn't matter if the broken rib made it hurt a little - and opened the passenger door to Caradoc's Mercedes.

She moved his umbrella to the backseat and sat down, turning on the radio and tuning to a music channel.

"I hate pop songs," Caradoc said, enting the car beside her.

"I know you do."

He turned the key in the ignition and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "Especially this station."

"All's fair in love and war."

Caradoc stepped on the accelerator and they pulled out of Gawain's driveway, turning onto the road. "Do be careful around Holly."

"Who's Holly?"

"Maleagant. Holly Beckett. Irish, I think. Too scared to ask."

" _You_ are too scared to ask? You really let yourself go, Dirk."

"She punched me in the face once when I asked her how old she was."

"That's because it's rude to ask for a woman's age."

"Still-"

"Shh, you're an idiot."

They sat in silence for the entire trip, music streaming from the car radio. The fields flashed past as they left Amsterdam going north.

Soon, the castle appeared in the distance. Caradoc stopped to the side of the road. "Out you go."

She looked at his gear, which wasn't on "park". "What about you?"

"Oberon got a serial number, remember? I've a thing to do."

"A thing?"

"Sagramore said not to tell you about in, or you might stow away in the trunk. So don't do that or I'll get my ass grilled."

"Charming. When will you be back?"

"Few hours."

She closed the door, and waved at him as he drove off. One small step at a time, Gawain made her way to the large medieval doors, which swung open for her.

From inside, she heard gunfire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The gate quietly rumbled open, the white paint flaking off it as it trembled out of his way. A light breeze blew across his face, and Caradoc took a step onto the gravel, which crunched under his feet.

Almost instantly, there was a gunshot.

The gravel a few feet from his was kicked up by the force of a bullet, along with some of the dust underneath.

"This is private property!" a megaphone-amplified voice called out from between the short, white buildings.

"I'm here to see Harker!" he shouted back.

Automatic fire tore through the air, creating small geysers of shattered rock and dust around him.

"Leave or we will use lethal force!"

"Joe sent me!" He closed his eyes, expecting another burst of gunfire.

It didn't come.

"Come here."

Caradoc took one step at a time, towards the where he felt the megaphone holder was. As he rounded the corner, he saw a large man of African descent, standing with two Hispanic-looking men who trained their HK416s on him.

"What is your business?" he asked through the megaphone.

"Purchase of weapons." Caradoc held his hands above his head sheepishly. "Please, I need to see Harker."

"Mister Harker is busy." Without the megaphone, the man's voice had a thick accent to it. "Come back tomorrow."

"It's an emergency."

"I know where Joe is!"

The African man pulled a pistol and pointed it straight at Caradoc's head. "Leave now. Or die."

Caradoc took a step back, but didn't turn around. They could shoot him in the back if they wanted to. And they seemed like the type.

"You have three seconds."

Caradoc backed around the corner.

The African and his men followed him around it, their weapons aimed as he walked backwards toward the gate.

"Two."

"Stop!" A voice rang out from the PA speakers mounted on the outside walls of the largest building. "Let him in."

The shutter on the building creaked, and moved up to the hum of motors. The African grabbed Caradoc by the collar, and shoved him towards the entrance.

"Take it easy, man." Once he regained his footing, Caradoc walked through it. He felt the mercenaries' eyes burn into his back like lasers.

Inside the warehouse, he saw more mercs with M416s, perched on the walkway above and around him, all surrounding the man with the greying hair and deep blue eyes who was sitting on a large crate. Harker.

"So, where's Joe?"

"I don't know ex-"

Harker picked up a revolver from the crate he was on and before Caradoc could dodge, fired it straight at his chest.

The impact sent a wave of pain rippling through the front of his torso to his spine. There was a clinking as the crumpled slug fell to the concrete floor, having failed to penetrate his suit.

Harker powered his gun. "What do we have here? A bulletproof suit?" He clicked the hammer into place, engaging the safety, and put the revolver back down on the crate. "Who do you work for?"

"Joe."

"You're lying."

Caradoc said nothing.

"I _could_ order my men to blow you to pieces, but I want that suit of yours. So make this easy for me and I'll make it quick for you." Harker smiled. To Caradoc, it was like seeing a shark grin.

"I know who Joe works for."

"Oh, do you? Come closer, will you?" He made a wagging motion with his left index.

Caradoc wearily took a few steps towards the arms dealer. "I can't tell you unless you can give me something."

"What's to stop me from...Nassor, come here."

The big African man walked over to Harker.

"Look, this is Nassor. I hired him from Africa half a year ago. He does everything I say. Which includes torturing the hell out of you so I can find Joe. Nassor, you name means victorious in...in what language again?"

"Swahili," Nassor boomed.

"Exactly. Swahili. Point is, he always wins. So he _will_ get it out of you. Even if he has to rip your limbs off and force you to eat them."

"Oberon, do the shoes work?" he muttered.

"They do. Or at least I think they do. 99% sure," he said over the glasses.

"Oh, great."

"What did you say?" Harker grabbed his pistol again.

"I said...hell no."

Harker aimed the pistol at him. "I thought you were smarter than this. We could have settled in a better way. Now, nothing personal, but you've Jo-"

Caradoc clicked his heels together, and with a _thump,_ a massive cloud of smoke blossomed out of them, obscuring him. He dived to the left just as Harker's men opened fire at where he was standing, their muzzle flashes lighting up in the smoke.

Harker shouted something incoherent among the gunfire. Everyone stopped shooting.

Caradoc pressed a button on his spectacles, bringing up the infrared camera. He spotted Harker standing a few metres away, waving his revolver about blindly.

He broke into a sprint, and got low, ramming his shoulder into Harker's legs, then wrapping his arms around them. The revolver clattered to the floor, just as the smoke cleared.

Caradoc flipped Harker out in front of him, holding his own pistol to Harker's head. "I know someone hired your men to take out my friend."

"My men get hired a lot. Right, guys?" Harker laughed. "How do you know I'll remember?"

"Because you also sold him a Barrett M82 sniper rifle. Now, I can turn that into the police and you'll stay in prison for the rest of your life being someone's bitch, or you can tell me who he was."

"...Jesus fuck, I'll tell you. Stand down!"

There was a rustling as all the mercenaries lowered their guns, a confused look on their faces.

Caradoc held on to Harker for a minute more, and then threw him on the floor, kicking the revolver away and holstering his own gun. "Talk."

"It was a guy named Quinn, okay? Didn't give a last name, and that one was probably fake. I was going to shoot him."

"Why didn't you?"

"Just let me finish, okay? I didn't kill him because he agreed to pay my inflated price. Like, the one I put upfront. Guy has a lot of money for some reason."

"Do you have a picture of him?"

Harker furrowed his brow. "You know what? I do. Nassor! Get me the pictures I took on Friday."

The big man lumbered over, grimacing at Caradoc, and handed a digital camera that was miniscule in comparison to his palm to Harker. The arms dealer turned it on, and flicked through pictures taken from unusual angles, from behind bushes and around corners, all of different clients.

He stopped at one of a man with a crew cut, in a biker jacket and carrying a briefcase. "This is Quinn. Best picture I could get."

Caradoc stared at the picture for a long moment. "Yeah, that's him." He flipped the camera over, and ejected the SD card.

"Hey!" Harkey pulled the card out of his hands, and the mercenaries flicked the safeties off on their weapons again. "You can't take that."

"You saw me muttering, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"That's my colleague. He's got my position, and he's got a pretty juicy recording of you guys here right now. Give me the card or that tape goes to the police."

Harker cursed under his breath, and tossed the card at Caradoc, who caught it in one hand. "Thank you." He handed the camera back, and straightened his suit.

"How do I know that's still not going to the police?"

"Because I'm a gentleman, that why." Caradoc slipped the SD card inside his jacket. "And gentlemen keep their promises."

Without another word, he strode out of the warehouse.

* * *

Jonas' phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Harker. "Yes?"

"One of them came to me today. My boys couldn't do shit to him. I want compensation."

"You're not getting anything. What'd he say?"

Even over the phone, he could hear Harken fuming. "Tried to get your name. I gave him the false one, but he asked for a photo."

"You had a photo of me?"

"Yeah, and I gave it to him. Sorry about that."

"You idiot."

"Guy like that, he'd see me lying a mile away. Give me protection at least. If he comes back…"

"And then you'll die for being the idiot you are." Jonas hung up, and pocketed his phone, turning the key in the elevator.

The doors opened into the penthouse. Klaas was nowhere in sight, but Jonas didn't bother searching for him, his eyes on the shiny chrome silencer pressed against his forehead.

"Bonjour," the Frenchman said.

Jonas was led to an armchair and seated, the gun still pointing at him. "Who are you?"

"A friend," Garth said, walking out of the bedroom. "And if you're worried about Klaas, don't be. He's running an errand. You've one to do too."

"Fuck you."

Garth took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and unfolded it, revealing a black-and-white photograph of a young woman. "Look familiar?"

Jonas went stiff. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

"Then do as we say." He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. "Jonas, I've really, really high hopes for you."

He could do nothing but listen.

* * *

"You didn't call the cops," Oberon said.

"Not worth it. And we might need something from him later."

"From that bastard? I highly doubt it."

"Just find the guy in the picture, okay? I'm heading back."

"Just one more thing you need to do, actually. Tristan is waiting for you at one of the cafes in town."

"Tristan? From Sweden?"

"Yeah, that Tristan. He didn't say what he wanted. You think it's important?"

"For the only field agent in Sweden to fly all the way here? I'd say hell yes. Can you patch me through?"

"Give me a second."

Caradoc opened his car door and sat inside, engaging the forward gear and pulling out of the parking lot, heading into the city. Oberon had already put a GPS marker on the map for him, to one of the more expensive cafes.

"Oberon?"

"Yeah, I can't seem to get through. You'll just have to ask him. My guess is he's flirting with some girl he just met."

"That doesn't sound like Tristan. Did he tell you anything else?"

"No. I mean, he didn't even talk to me, jut sent me an email saying he wanted to see you and Gawain."

"That's worrying. Disable the traffic cameras."

"Okay...done."

Caradoc stepped on the accelerator, his car shooting through the rush hour traffic, way past the speed limit. He screeched around a corner, and slowed to a stop beside a white building in the middle of the city.

He spotted Tristan, almost immediately, sitting at one of the tables far away from the windows, looking pale. Caradoc entered the shop, ignoring the cashier's greeting, and sat down with Tristan.

"Oh my god, you're actually here. Thank goodness." He was visibly shaking, one hand digging into the arm of the chair he was sat in.

"What's wrong?" He looked down at Tristan's half-eaten fruit cake. Probably comfort food. "Why didn't you talk to Oberon?"

"I-it's my team." His eyes were wide with fear. "T-they're all dead."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Very good," Sagramore said, just as Gawain came up the stairs. He was holding a pistol towards a girl of no more than twenty-five, with brown hair and hazel eyes, who was similarly holding a gun at him, from her position on the floor.

She laid on her back, and smiled. "Top of class, remember?"

"What's going on?" Gawain holstered her gun.

Sagramore held up his sidearm, and ejected the clip, showing her the bullets with a white line across each of them. Blanks. "Just testing her reaction time. It's excellent. Holly, stand up."

Slowly, the girl lowered her gun, and stood up. "I could have shot you."

"I removed your bullets."

She ejected her own clip, and looked up in awe. "Oh my god, what? When'd you do that?"

"When you were watching Oberon. Now, Holly, this is Gawain, our other field agent. Gawain, Holly Beckett, Maleagant's replacement."

"Call me Valerie," Gawain said, extending a hand.

Holly shook it, her grip hard as rock. "You're three days late."

"Well, I was shot by a sniper and then had severe internal trauma, so I'm sorry if I'm late."

"Oh." Her face dropped. "I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"It's fine."

Sagramore clicked his tongue, causing both of them to turn. "Arthur's calling me now,so I gotta go. See you girls later." He climbed the stairs to his office.

Holly put her hands on her hips. "What now?"

"Well, what's Oberon taught you so far?"

"Basic decrypting, a bit of hacking...I didn't know that stuff was so hard! It always looks easy in the movies."

"Oberon and Merlin make it look easy. The rest of us, we've no idea what they're saying half the time. Done interrogation yet?"

"I had some practice on a terrorist back in England."

"That's good. Up for more?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I am." She cracked her knuckles.

"You met Doctor Fischer?" Gawain started down the corridor with Holly in tow.

"Poor guy, cooped up like that. Hasn't he told you everything yet?"

"Probably the trauma. He doesn't remember who hired him. Maybe you can make him remember?"

"I can only try. And don't quote Yoda."

Gawain chuckled. "I like you already. How do you think we can get him to talk?"

"Take him shopping."

"You're kidding me."

"No, really. He might actually open up to us if he's not under constant stress. Just him and me and that one mall I saw when I took a cab."

"I guess we haven't tried that yet. You think you can handle him on your own?"

"Valerie, I'm the top of the class. I can handle myself."

She shrugged and knocked on a metal door. "Doctor, I'm coming in!" Gawain undid the latch and swung the heavy door open into a clean white room, with a bed stashed in one corner. Doctor Fischer was curled up in another corner, counting the hairs on the back of his fingers.

He looked up as they entered. "Oh, Holly, you're here! Who are you again?" he asked Gawain.

"I'm the one who pulled you out of that compound, Doctor."

"Oh, in that case, thank you. I might remember something, now that I think about it."

"Oh?" Gawain pulled up a chair. "Please do share, doctor. It's important that we find the people who captured you."

"A name. Garth. And a bit of a face. Looked a bit old, with hair like Bruce Willis, you know? When he was younger, I mean. But it was a dark brown and he really liked to snark."

"You think you can do a sketch?"

Fischer shook his head.

"What about words? What did he say to you?"

"It's all blurry."

Gawain stood up. "Thank you, doctor. I'll talk to you tomorrow. But now Holly is going to take you shopping."

His eyes lit up. "Outside! That's good! Where are we?"

"Amsterdam," Holly said. "I'll get you some new clothes, okay? You can't just wear this all the time."

"Excellent!" He rubbed his palms, then looked at his watch. "Although, it's breakfast time isn't it? Can we wait while I eat?"

"We'll come back when you're done," Gawain said, opening the door and stepping outside.

"I'm starving too," Holly said. "And I'm sick of Oberon ordering pizza."

"He just lives off that, doesn't he? Should we go out?"

"Italian?"

"Too cheesy."

"Japanese?"

"I don't do very good with raw fish."

"There's not only raw fish, you know."

"...deal."

* * *

"So are you and Dirk together?"

Gawain found herself unable to stop blushing. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Clearly, you are. You cried when he was going to quit."

She dropped her chopsticks on the plate. "Who told you that?"

"Oberon."

"Oh, I'm going to kill him. Uh, no, we're not together. I mean, we used to hook up and stuff, but the job got in the way."

"Ever think of going back?"

"I'm doing fine here, so no."

A smile slowly formed on Holly's face. "You dirty liar, Valerie. I can see it plastered all over your face."

"I'd like to keep my professional and personal life separate, thank you very much." She picked up her chopsticks again and put another piece of breaded pork cutlet in her mouth. "What about you? Have you got someone?"

Holly shook her head. "I've never really been a people person. And aren't a lot of cute girls in England."

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

"I get that reaction a lot. But we live in the modern world, eh?"

"You're right. Sorry. It's so easy to forget sometimes."

"Forget what?"

"What we're protecting. What Kingsman does. This is exactly what we fight for: freedom of speech, liberty and all that other stuff the Americans keep claiming they're all about."

"It's why I enlisted, actually."

"Was Roxy your supervisor?"

"No, it was Perceval. He's very quiet. Lancelot's always laughing and stuff."

"Everybody has their own style of teaching. It's more how you receive it."

"And your style?"

"I don't know yet. But you're going to be doing a lot, not just training."

Holly nodded. "I like it."

"You don't know that yet."

"Well, I like the _sound_ of it. Have you ever trained anyone?"

"No, I haven't."

"How long have you been an agent?"

"Five years. I entered at the same age as you. Dirk's been one for eleven years. And Sagramore...thirty something."

" _Eleven?_ That's some loyalty he's got there." Holly narrowed her eyes. "Wait, you sure Dirk's not serving just to stay with you?"

"I told you, we've no feelings for each other...anymore. "

"Maybe he's staying to protect you."

"That's his duty. It's also mine to protect him, but I'm not in very good shape right now."

"Aw, that's so romantic."

"Can we please go back to talking about training?"

Holly's watch beeped. "That's time. Let's go back."

Gawain stuffed the food left on her plate into her mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed it. "Let's go shopping."

* * *

"Seriously, a castle?"

"Hidden in plain sight," Garth said. "You'd never expect such an organisation to be in a real castle, do you?"

Jonas scrunched up his nose. "Yeah, whatever."

Garth flipped the screen showing the UAV drone's display down. "But you can get them outside."

"You have Frenchie. He can kill them."

"We'd rather not get involved."

Jonas tapped his foot impatiently. "You're fucking cowards."

"I'd rather be a coward than have our plans ruined."

"Okay, I'll do it. What do I use?"

"Your friend Mr. Harker has a few...munitions, should I say? I've ordered some from him just for you."

"And my ticket?"

Garth handed him a small slip of paper. "I'll see you in a few days."

Jonas was left staring dumbly at the airplane ticket in his hand.

* * *

Gawain waved at Holly and Fischer from the top of the stairs. "Come back before lunch!" She watched as the automated doors closed, and took the stairs to the third floor.

Oberon was still on the comm with Caradoc.

She continued up the stairs, to the wooden door marked "Sagramore", and rapped on it with her knuckles three times.

"Come in!"

Gawain opened the door into Sagramore's office. "Holly's a really bright girl."

Sagramore held up a hand. He was looking at a tablet computer that was propped up on his desk. "Gaw- Val, come here."

Curious, Gawain walked around his desk. A girl who looked a lot like Sagramore was holding up a dress.

"My daughter can't decide on a dress, and I'm terrible at this. Some help?"

"Let me see…" Gawain picked up the tablet, and scrolled through the pictures. "I wasn't aware you had a daughter, sir."

"I'd rather she doesn't know about Kingsman. She deserves a normal life, not what I got myself into."

"That's probably what I'd want if I ever have kids."

"You'd be a good mom."

"Only if I find someone. And settle down. And you know I'm not the kind for that." She flicked through more pictures, until she arrived at a red dress. "This one. It compliments her lips."

Sagramore took the tablet back and brought up the email app. "Thank you, Valerie. I'll credit you."

Gawain sat back in the chair opposite Sagramore. "Holly's got a bright future ahead of her."

"You think so?"

"She's definitely agent material. Really still hands as well, so I'm considering letting Oberon train her as a medic."

"Well, I'd definitely let her perform surgery on me. I'm getting old and that might be sooner than I think."

"You're not old, sir. You're not even fifty yet."

"Not physically, no, but all this work...it's aging me mentally."

"Are you thinking of retiring, sir?"

"Not in a million years! We've got a world to protect, haven't we? Although I'm hoping you or dirk - or both - will take my place when I'm gone."

"I'm afraid I'm not the leader type."

"I thought you'd say that, Maybe I'll bring someone from UK HQ. Galahad sounds like a good idea, though he seems really busy. Oh yes, Merlin."

"Sir, if you bring in Merlin, he and Oberon will probably try to take over the world."

Sagramore laughed heartily. "You and your jokes. I'm serious, though. Merlin's quite capable of running this on his own."

"To be honest, I'd prefer Dirk. At least he'd get something to do once Arthur stops him being a field agent."

Sagramore sighed. "I don't like the new Arthur. He sticks by the rules."

"That's what he's supposed to do."

"I guess it's good in a way. A lot less chaos and a lot more success. But it's also a lot less _fun_."

Gawain said nothing, crossing her legs instead.

Three more sharp knocks.

"Come in!" Sagramore said.

Oberon poked his head in, holding his tablet clipboard. "We've got a problem."

"What is it?"

He turned the clipboard around, displaying a text message addressed from Caradoc.

 _Stockholm team is dead except Tristan. I'm bringing him back. Somebody is watching us._

"Jesus Christ," Sagramore muttered. "Can we get a confirmation?"

"Already notified Swedish police, sir. What now?"

Sagramore clasped his hands together on the table. "Now we wait."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tristan swallowed hard. "Are you sure they're not watching?" He gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were white.

"They can't be," Caradoc said. "This is one of the most secure places in the country."

"That's what we thought of the ship."

"What happened, Tristan?"

The Swedish man coughed twice into his fist, before looking up with wide eyes. "It was Geraint."

"Geraint? Your boss?"

"He killed everyone."

Sagramore frowned. "He wouldn't do that. I know the guy; he's as docile as a farm animal."

"Farm animals aren't docile," Tristan whispered.

Caradoc looked at Gawain, and then at Oberon. "Can you get Geraint's medical records? See if he was depressed or something?"

"Give me a moment." Oberon left Sagramore's office, typing on his PDA.

"Can you describe what you saw?" Gawain asked.

Tristan shook his head.

"Come on. It's the only lead we have now. Something must have gone wrong with him. He can't just...shoot everyone."

"He just did," Caradoc said. "Tristan, what did you see?"

Tristan took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply. "I was about to board the ship when I heard someone shooting. Next thing I knew, fucking Geraint was trying to kill me. So I ran."

"What happened to the ship?"

"I don't know. It drifted off."

Sagramore sighed loudly. "If someone finds that ship, they find us. All of us. Where was it last?"

"Just off Langholmen. South east."

Sagramore pulled a rolled-up map of Europe from under his desk and spread it out. "Point."

Tristan reached out with a trembling finger and place it in the small gap between the islands of Langholmen and Gamla Stan, Stockholm. Sagramore looked up. "Dirk, Valerie, you're up. Go with Tristan and destroy or recover all the hard drives on that ship."

"Now, sir?" Caradoc asked.

"No, tomorrow. Tristan needs some rest, and you need at least two agents' codes to wipe the database anyway. Gawain, you're no longer suspended."

She beamed.

"No, she's injured," Caradoc said. "You can't jus-"

Sagramore slammed a palm onto the tabletop. "Today, agent Izaks has proven herself capable enough, Dirk. And you'll need the extra help."

"I'm not putting her in danger."

"And I'm not asking you to. I'm ordering you to."

Caradoc said nothing, blowing hair out of his nose.

"Dirk."

"Fine, I'll take her. But she's not doing anything that might get her killed."

"Fair enough."

"What?" Gawain exclaimed. "You think I can't fight?"

Caradoc turned to her. "I know you can. But not today. This morning you said everything hurts."

"Not anymore."

"Jesus, Val, you'll tear the stitches!"

"Fuck that. I want to know what the hell happened to Geraint. I'm going, and that's final."

Sagramore nodded.

Caradoc said nothing.

"Any questions?" Sagramore asked.

Tristan slowly put his hand up. "What if the ship's sunk?"

"Then we use a submarine," Caradoc said. "You can pilot one, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. You're definitely coming. Val, I…"

"Save it. I'll go schedule the jet." She walked out the door, her shoes clicking down the stairs.

Caradoc looked back at Sagramore. "Are you insane? This morning she could hardly move!"

"And I trust you to protect her."

"She doesn't want me to protect her. She thinks she's fine on her own. How am I supposed to make sure she's safe?" He paced around the room. "One blow to that area and she's going to die. There aren't any hospitals in the middle of a river."

"With Tristan down in the sub, you'll need another pair of eyes, Dirk. She can spot while you defend."

Caradoc's hand instinctively went to the scar below his glass eye, tracing down to where it ended just below his left cheek. "With all due respect, sir, I think I'm functioning just fine. Valerie isn't necessary."

"Try and tell her that." Sagramore took pushed a map pin into the area Tristan had pointed out. "Now you two go and get some rest; you're leaving early tomorrow."

Tristan stood up, but Caradoc put one hand on his shoulder and put him back in the chair. "Sir, I beg you to-"

"Nothing more, Dirk. You heard her, it's final. Now get out of my office."

* * *

Oberon and Gawain were looking at the face scan when Caradoc came in. He pulled a stool up to them and watched as a face was slowly rendered in three dimensions on the screen. "Is this Quinn?"

"Closest representation I can get from the photos you got. It'll help us look for pictures of him at every angle."

"He looks military," Gawain said.

"Probably. Wait a moment…" Oberon tapped a bunch of keys, bringing up a long list of names. "Military. How didn't I think of that?"

Caradoc watched him type in a few keywords, and then up popped a picture of Quinn. "That's him. Well done."

"His name is Jonas. Ex-USMC sniper. Left when he got shot in the leg in Afghanistan." He brought up another file. "Currently working...he's the chief of security for Phoenix."

"I knew it." Caradoc leaned in to read the file. "At their American branch?"

"No. Here in Amsterdam."

"Can you trace him?"

"Give me a minute."

Caradoc looked at Gawain, and pointed to a lab table. She sat opposite him, her cin resting on the back of her hand.

"If this is about Sweden, you can't stop me."

"It's not about Sweden. It's about you. You dying is the last thing I want right now." He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't go this save you from the sni- Jonas just to have you killed again."

"Stop worrying! I can handle myself. Like that time in-"

"Baghdad, yes, I know. But in Baghdad you didn't have a healing bullet wound and a defunct rib."

"It's the same thing."

Caradoc opened his mouth to protest, but Gawain's finger was laid across his lips. "I'll be fine. Oberon, you done?"

"Almost...got it! Okay, the last time Jonas used his credit card was...buying a dress. Probably for his girlfriend."

"Where does he live?" Caradoc asked.

"Downtown. Camera feed says his car isn't there."

"So do we have enough evidence against Phoenix?"

"I'm afraid not. Jonas could be acting on his own."

"Well, we attacked his compound. He could be retaliating."

"Then we'd have to tell everyone that we parachuted into a Phoenix base at night, killed half the guards and then escaped by helicopter. Which in my book isn't a good idea. It'd make us the aggressors."

"Can't we at least capture him?" Gawain asked.

"As soon as I find him I'll tell you, and you can stuff him in your trunk. But I highly doubt it'll be today. Amsterdam is way too big for that."

"Just try," Caradoc said.

"Will do."

Gawain looked at her watch. "Holly should be back by now."

"What, punchy girl? Nah, she's always a bit late."

"'Punchy girl'?"

"I told you she smacked me in the face. for asking about her age. She's lucky a gentleman never hits a lady."

"You weren't being gentlemanly when you asked for her age."

"Twenty-six," Holly said, walking in with Fischer, who was in a clean new dress shirt and black trousers. "I'm twenty-six."

"Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were going to punch me again for asking," Caradoc said.

"You sound like you _want_ me to punch you."

"Oh, fuck off. Just get the doctor back to his cell."

"You do that. I need to talk to Oberon."

"I'll do it," Gawain said. "Come on, doctor." She left with Fischer.

Holly sat on Gawain's chair, and spun around on it. "You guys should go shopping more often."

"Sorry," Caradoc said. "We can't. Too busy saving the world."

"And bringing order to chaos," Oberon added. "When you've finished your training, you'll find that there's no time for shopping."

"I _always_ find time," Holly said.

"That reminds me," Caradoc cut in. "Since Gawain, Tristan and I are going to Sweden, that leaves Holly as the only field agent?"

"You're going to Sweden?"

"None of your business. You think you can hold off an ex-military sniper and a bunch of hired guns, Holly?"

"Easy peasy. The umbrella helps."

"The sniper used an M82 last time. That goes straight through the umbrella and anything behind it."

"Oh, speaking of umbrellas…" Oberon picked up the one leaning against his desk and handed it to Holly. "I've finally managed to integrate a blade. Button on the handle."

Holly pressed something, and and the handle detached from the rest of the umbrella, a thin rapier sliding out of it. "Whoa. doesn't this ruin the shooting function?"

"No, I've redesigned it so you can still shoot without the hand. You just won't be able to change the projectile while it's apart."

"That's pretty smart," Caradoc said. "I bet Merlin's envious."

"Don't the shoes already have a blade?" Holly asked.

"Not these," Caradoc said. "I'm trying out the new smoke bomb shoes. Worked really well, by the way. Thanks."

Oberon gave a little bow.

"I'm hungry again," Holly said. "Can we order something?"

"Pizza?"

"No!" Caradoc and Holly said in unison.

* * *

"Where's Jonas?"

"Oh, I sent him on a little job," Garth said. "i hope you don't mind. How's your task?"

"Where's Frenchie?"

"Right behind you," the Frenchman whispered into Klaas' ear.

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I just don't like to be seen. It's a kind of peace."

"Fuck off. What now?" he asked Garth.

"How many mercenaries does Mr. Harker have up for hire?"

"A hundred or so, I guess."

"Good. Hire all of them."

"For what?"

"You'll see. We'll give you the money if you need it. And another thing." He took the same piece of paper out of his pocket and displayed the young woman in the picture to Klaas.

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Your wife is currently dining at the Restaurant Bonjour, and will finish her meal in approximately twenty minutes," The Frenchman said. "it will take her twenty-five more minutes to get to your villa. It would be a shame if I was waiting there."

"You fuckers."

Garth smiled. "Get her for me and she'll be fine. Now, pip-pip."

Klaas tore the photo into pieces and threw the pieces at Garth. "You'll get what's coming for you."

"I'll be waiting, Mr. Hekkers."

He flipped Garth off just as the the elevator doors swept closed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"They're here," Jonas said into his earpiece. "Three of them. Two from there, one from here. I don't think I can take them."

"You can. Just follow my instructions very carefully," Garth said. "You'll be fine. They won't even get a shot at you."

Jonas paused to inhale deeply. His eyes followed the two men and the woman as they headed out the door of the airport. "Alright, what's the plan?"

* * *

Gawain hugged her coat as they exited the airport. "Hell, I thought Amsterdam was cold."

"Welcome to Sweden," Tristan said. She could hear him trying to maintain the enthusiasm, but it didn't conceal his pale face and darting eyes.

"Don't worry, we just need to get a submarine, and we're off."

"Stealing a submarine won't be easy," Caradoc said. "And where from? A naval yard?"

Tristan adjusted his glasses. "We've a research vessel docked on Peter Lind. A bit illegal, but we've got contacts." He frowned. "Sorry, we _had_ contacts."

Caradoc walked to the road to call a cab.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Gawain asked. "Losing someone, I mean."

Tristan nodded. "There was a girl. Sara was her name. She...I was going to ask her out that day."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Let's make sure Sara's sacrifice doesn't go to waste, alright?"

"I don't know. I can't trust anyone anymore."

"Hey, look." Gawain put a hand on his face. "You can trust me, okay? And you can trust Dirk. We won't let you die."

Tristan just nodded.

"And...what's your name? I only know your designation."

"Ulf. Ulf Lindstrom."

"Hey!" Caradoc waved at them. He was leaning against the driver's window of a black-and-yellow car.

Gawain gave Tristan a wink, and opened the backseat door. She climbed in, followed by Caradoc. Tristan, who knew the directions, began speaking in rapid-fire Swedish that she didn't understand.

The moment Tristan handed the cab driver a thick wad of notes, he took off at a breakneck speed, swerving around cars and ignoring the angry shouts of other drivers.

Gawain hooked the fingers on one hand around the edge of the seat to avoid slamming into Caradoc, who was similarly being thrown around by the constant change in momentum of the car.

After speeding through several red lights and making more illegal turns than Gawain could count, the driver turned off the main road onto the pier, braking hard. He turned to her and flashed a gap-toothed smile.

Gawain smiled back, and opened the door, stepping out and taking a moment to regain her composure.

Caradoc stumbled around her, while Tristan seemed unaffected. He was looking towards the sparking blue waters, shielding his eyes with one hand. "The _Odin_ is down there somewhere."

Gawain put a hand on his shoulder. "If it is, we'll find it. Where's our boat?"

Tristan pointed towards a large wooden boat garage built into the pier. "She's in there."

Caradoc walked over, eyeing the padlock over the door. "I thought there'd be more security."

"Nobody wants to steal the _Yvonne_ , trust me." He produced a key and inserted it into the padlock, unlocking it in a turn and tossing it away. He threw the doors open, revealing the most dangerous-looking research vessel Gawain had ever seen in her life.

In the low light, it at first seemed normal enough, with the flat aft deck and the yellow submersible hardly large enough for one man to fit in. Then Gawain took a step into the garage, and realised that termites had eaten away large portions of the deck, revealing the pipes and machinery below. The paint flaked off the hull and superstructure, and a faded word - _Yvonne_ \- written in mismatched yellow paint graced the bow.

"She's seen better days," Tristan said, smiling a little at the look on Gawain's face. "Help me untie her, will you?"

Gawain scrunched her face up at the ship, and then moved to undo the knot holding the boat to the pier. "How fast does it go?"

"Eight and a half knots."

"English, please," Caradoc said.

"Just below sixteen kilometres per hour."

"Let's just get going," Gawain said. She clambered onto the rotting aft deck, tip-toeing across the holes and to the door in the superstructure. With a grunt, she wrenched the rusted handle loose, and swung it open.

"You guys know how to drive a boat?" Tristan asked, stepping into the bridge, and wiping the dust off the console with one hand.

Gawain shook her head. "Never got the chance to learn."

"Dirk?"

"I get seasick. Boats are _not_ my thing." He grimaced.

Tristan turned the key in the ignition, causing sputtering from the twin motors in the back. "She's still seaworthy!" He grabbed a remote off the dashboard, and pressed a button.

The garage doors swung open, sunlight streaming through the dirty bridge windows.

Gawain blocked out the light with one hand. "What's our ETA?"

"To the search area? Ten minutes, give or take a few."

"Let's go. No more time to waste."

Tristan gunned the engines and they took off slowly, the boat rocking in the waves.

Caradoc was turning a slight green. "Excuse me." He opened the bridge door, and stumbled outside just as another wave shifted the boat."

Gawain sat down inside the bridge, against a wall. "Tell me about Sara."

Tristan said nothing.

"You've got to have something."

"I'd rather not talk about her right now."

"A problem shared is a problem halved. Come on."

She could hear Tristan gulp. "Sh-she was blonde. Not totally blonde, though, like, a dirty blonde. I guess I liked that."

"Was she cute?"

"Very."

"Is that all?"

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Fair enough."

They sat in silence for around ten minutes, Gawain looking out of a side window in the bridge at the passive trawlers and freighters and yachts sailing past. She wondered if any of the people on the boats had any idea of what she faced every day.

Caradoc pushed the door back in, wiping the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his suit. "I hate boats."

Tristan laughed. "I grew up around them, so I guess I got my...well, my sea legs a long time ago. Can you read in the car?"

"Don't say that; I'll just go and vomit again."

"I can," Gawain said. "Used to be a massive bookworm. Then I joined Kingsman, and there's hardly time these days."

"Maybe I should have taken that paperwork of you."

"No, it's fine. I'll listen to audiobooks or something."

"Really? I'd much rather read real books. Maybe I'll buy one for you."

Tristan chuckled . "You two sound married."

"That's what happens when you have to work with someone every day for five years," Gawain said. "I suppose it's kind of like that."

"Ever thought of getting married?"

"No!" She looked at Caradoc, who refused to make eye contact with her. "Never! I can't stand him."

"And I can't stand her," Caradoc added.  
The sound of the boat's coughing engines stopped, and Tristan turned to them. "We're in the search area. Radar says there's something right under us."

Caradoc stood up, and opened the door. "I'll help you get the sub down."

Gawain grabbed his lapel. "You sure you're not going to vomit again?"

"I have to face my own fears too, Val." He smiled at her and disappeared through the door.

Tristan, gave her a long look, and followed Caradoc outside.

It was another ten minutes before she heard her name. Gawain got up slowly, wary of the pressure in her left chest, and poked her head out.

Tristan was wearing a wetsuit that was a little bit too big for him, giving her a thumbs-up from the side of the submarine before climbing the ladder up its side, and then dropping into its bowels.

Caradoc operated the crane levers, standing at a little section of deck that was situated between two gaping holes in the wood. He pulled a lever, causing the old crane to slowly lift their submarine off the deck.

He moved the submarine to the back of the vessel, and lowered it into the water. There, he unlatched the claw holding the submersible. "There's a radio inside."

Gawain walked back into the bridge, wiping one hand over the dusty radar screen to clear it. There was a blip close to the center of the circle, representing Tristan's submarine descending. a few more blips were clustered to the slight south-west.

The radio mounted on the dashboard crackled. "I can't see shit down here," Tristan said.

Gawain picked it up. "Just keep going. We're counting on you, Ulf."

"It sounds strange when you call me that."

"It's your name."

"I don't like it. Tristan is okay, sounds like an actual name. I'll call you when I get there, okay?"

"Ulf's an actual name too. We'll talk later." She hung up.

* * *

Under other circumstances, Jonas would have love the feel of the wind hitting his face as the helicopter he was on cut through the air. Under _these_ circumstances, however, he was more nervous than excited.

"What's the name of the ship again, sir?" the pilot inquired.

"The _Yvonne_ ," he replied, holding up his binoculars and scanning the various watercraft assembled below him.

"What kind of vessel is she, sir?"

"Research. That's all I know."

"That one to the starboard side, sir?"

Jonas swung himself over to the other helicopter door, and aimed his binoculars down at the bleak grey-and-black ship that looked like it wouldn't last a moment in a storm. "Yeah, that's her."

"What now?"

Take us lower. And further away. To the east maybe, where there aren't any other ships."

The pilot gave an acknowledgement, and turned the aircraft away from the _Yvonne_ , dropping close to the water.

Jonas looked at the crate Harker had sent him via cargo plane, the letters MK46 stamped on the wood in red. "Can you keep this thing still for a few minutes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Turn me towards the ship."

* * *

"I'm getting a real bad feeling," Caradoc said.

"You said that a hundred times on the plan because you thought the pressure change was going to kill me."

"Can you really blame me for that?"

"No, I guess not. But I don't see any injured people spontaneously dying on planes." Gawain brushed a loose strand of her hair back.

"I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be."

The radio came alive again. "It's the _Odin_."

Caradoc picked it up and walked to Gawain, holding it between them. "You see any hard drives?"

"Yes. A lot of them. But they're all gone, at this rate. Geraint must have blown the ship's bottom out or something. I'm going back up."

"See you up here," Caradoc said.

But Gawain wasn't paying attention. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

She put a finger on the radar screen and tapped it. A smaller dot was moving across it, heading towards the centre.

"That's a fucking torpedo." He raised the radio again. "Tristan, you hear me? There's a torpedo heading our way. Get out of there ASAP."

Gawain leaned forwards to look outside one of the windows. "Dirk, there's a helicopter-"

Caradoc dropped to a prone position on the floor.

She dived to the side as she saw the glint of a scope, and bullets blew the windows of the ship out. Gawain landed on her left side, and a dull ache spread across her chest. "Shit, fuck."

"Are you hurt?"

"Just a little. By ribs...check on Tristan!"

Caradoc grabbed the radio from where he had dropped it. "Tristan, do you get me? Are you clear?"

"I'm almost there, just give me a se-"

A large fountain of water blew upwards next to their boat, throwing them sideways across the bridge. Gawain hit the opposite wall with her back, and dropped to the floor again. She leaned out into a broken window, expecting more gunfire.

The helicopter was turning away.

Gradually, chucks of metal appeared on the surface, painted yellow.

And among them, facedown, was Tristan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Take the wheel!" Caradoc raised his pistol, and aimed with his good eye. He squeezed the trigger repeatedly, his bullets clanging harmlessly off the helicopter.

The boat lurched, and Caradoc held on to a handrail. His pistol's iron sights swayed with the motion of the boat, but he kept firing as Gawain turned the watercraft towards the helicopter, and the roar of the boat's engines grew louder.

A man leaned out of the helicopter, and Caradoc recognised Jonas from his photograph almost immediately. He snapped off a few more shots, but with the floor rocking below him, he missed by yards.

The distance between the _Yvonne_ and the Huey was getting larger by the second, the old boat unable to catch up with a military aircraft.

Gawain opened the bridge door. "We need a faster boat."

"We don't have one!" He looked across the river, where other boats were fleeing at the sound of gunfire.

"There's no way we can catch up in this thing. Fuck the boat." She slumped against the bridge door.

As his adrenaline faded, Caradoc felt something rise from his stomach, burning the walls of his throat. He leaned over the side, and threw the rest of his breakfast up into the water. He wiped his mouth again. "That was Jonas."

"Did you hit him?"

"Couldn't get a steady shot. This boat is a piece of shit."

"Wait, he's coming back around." Gawain raised her pistol.

Caradoc propped himself up, and saw that the Huey was in fact making a turn. It stopped halfway, hovering in midair, one door open, and Jonas leaning out of it.

"He's going to shoot us." Gawain paled.

"We're still moving towards him, so we should be fine. He can't be that accurate, can he?"

"What if it's heat-seeking? They're usually like that."

"...shit."

Something cylindrical dropped from the Huey, splashing in the water. "Incoming!"

"Wait, I've an idea." Caradoc took the lighter grande out of his pocket, and flicked it open, arming it. He tossed the flashing grenade to the side, into the water a ways away from their boat.

Gawain closed her eyes.

Caradoc watched the blinking light fade as the grenade sunk.

Seconds later, a large column of water exploded out of the spot, drenching the two of them. A second, louder explosion then followed, with much more force.

"I can't believe that fucking worked." Caradoc raised his pistol again. They were getting closer to Jonas, who was loading another torpedo into the launcher stuck to the side of the Huey.

Before he could fire, Gawain squeezed off three rounds in succession, blowing holes in the pilot's side window.

The helicopter wobbled in the air, and the leaned towards a partially forested island ahead of them. It hit the trees, and its rotors tore off in the impact, slicing harmlessly through the leaves and branches, while the fuselage disappeared beneath the canopy.

"Good shot," Caradoc said. "I thought you couldn't drive a boat?"

"I learned," she said.

"Now for Jonas?"

"He and I have a problem." She went back inside the bridge to steer the boat.

Gawain stopped their boat beside the pier, and Caradoc leapt out, resisting the urge to kiss solid ground again.

Ignoring the protest of the dock guards and policemen, Caradoc sprinted between two buildings, and into the forest.

The brush was thick and green, inhibiting his movements as he waded through it towards the column of smoke that had begun rising from between the trees.

With a bang, something hot whistled past his face.

Caradoc pressed himself against the thick trunk of a tree, panting. To his right, Gawain was doing the same with another tree. He made a tube with his hand and held it over his good eye. _Sniper_.

Gawain made an okay symbol with her hand.

Caradoc raised finger, and drew a curved line in the air, away from himself. _Flank him._

Gawain ducked into the brush, out of sight.

He leaned out of cover and fired a few times where he felt Jonas' bullet come from. He saw a shape move out of the way, and then the glint of Jonas' scope.

He turned back into cover just as the .50 cal round took out a large chunk of wood right next to his head. Caradoc swore under his breath, and popped out of the other side, shooting again.

Instead of a shot from a sniper rifle, he heard the stutter of an automatic weapon, and rounds raked the tree he was hiding behind.

The dry leaves just on the ground on the other side of the tree were suddenly crushed.

Caradoc grabbed the barrel of the MP5 just as it poked into his field of view, and twisted the weapon upwards.

Jonas pulled the trigger, firing bullets into the space just above Caradoc's shoulder, the muzzle flash from the barrel searing against the hairs on the side of his head.

He pressed his right hand to the nape of Jonas' neck, sending a high-current burst of electricity into the sniper, and knocking him away.

Jonas raised the MP5 and-

 _Click._

Swearing, he unslung the weapon and tossed it to the side, and drew his combat knife from its leg sheath.

Jonas made a choking sound as Gawain's shoe smashed into the area between his legs from behind. He dropped the knife and clutched his stomach, before falling to his knees.

"Jesus fuck, Val."

Gawain grabbed Jonas by the collar and slammed him against a tree. "What do you want from us?"

"I can't tell you."

She held the singlet ring close to his neck. "Oh, you can't? Care to elaborate on why you can't?"

"Valerie-"

"Be quiet, Dirk. Now, Jonas, why'd you shoot me?"

"That, I can tell you," Jonas said. "Your people attacked our bases in the Alps, and killed half our guards in the process. Tell me that doesn't warrant a fucking retaliation."

Gawain blinked a few times. "What about now? You just killed my friend, you know that?"

"I can't tell you!"

Caradoc pulled Gawain off Jonas. "Val, calm down. We won't get anything this way." He turned to Jonas. "Why can't you tell us?"

Jonas shook his head. "Please don't kill me. I'm just following orders!"

"The Nuremberg defense doesn-"

"Val! Shut up for a second. Jonas, who's ordering you? Is it Klaas Hekkers?"

"No! If I tell you they'll kill her!"

Caradoc raised his eyebrows at his partner. "Who are they?"

"Please, I can't."

"Jonas, listen, we can help has the resources to protect her from whoever it is, okay?"

Jonas said nothing.

"Who are they?"

"They don't have a name. Or at least, they didn't give me one."

"Who?" Gawain asked.

"A man called Garth. I don't remember his last name. He's with this French guy."

"Who's he threatening?"

"My girlfriend. Please, I'm sorry your friend is dead. My hands are tied."

Caradoc let go of Jonas. "If I find out you're lying to me, I'll kill you personally, understand? Actually, I'll let my partner do it, since you shot her and all."

Jonas nodded.

"Now get the fuck up. you're coming with us."

* * *

Klaas was enjoying the view of Amsterdam from the edge of the pier when he head the sound of a revolver being cocked behind him. "Hello, Harker."

"You got one of those fancy suits too?"

Klass turned to face the barrel of the gun in his face. "I'm not one of them. I'm Jonas' employer."

"And Jonas got three of my boys killed."

"I'd like to hire the rest of them."

"Not a fucking chance. You've five seconds to walk out of here before I shoot you in the head."

Klaas picked up the duffel bag at his feet and tossed it to Jonas. "That's my first payment."

"Say, I take this money and shoot you anyway."

"You won't."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"There's more where this came from." Klaas crouched down and unzipped the bag, revealing packs and packs of Euro notes. "And i'm sure you want more, don't you?"

Harker lowered the gun. "I can give you half my men."

"In that case, this is all you're going to get."

Harker bit his lip, deep in thought. He twirled the revolver around in his hand. "Fine. You can have all of them by Nassor. He's my bodyguard."

"Deal, Mr. Harker?"

"Deal."

* * *

Caradoc exited the cockpit, and took off his tie, throwing onto an empty seat. "Champagne, anyone?"

Gawain grinned at him, and hit the send button on the plane's computer. "I've just emailed Oberon. Hopefully we'll get the Garth guy by the time we land."

"It's not that easy."

"Nothing ever is, isn't it?" She looked over to Jonas, who was asleep across two of the seats. "But it's what we do."

"You seem a lot happier."

"Of course I am. We've just found the person who shot me."

"Not like that. I mean, is there something else on your mind?"

"Sagramore's daughter was sent me a thank you mail this morning. I helped her choose her ball dress."

"He has a daughter?" Caradoc dumped himself onto a seat.

"I didn't know that either until he asked for my help yesterday. Cute girl."

"You think I got a chance?"

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

"Just kidding, Sagramore's too scary. Besides, our job isn't exactly relationship-friendly." He reached across to the mini-bar and grabbed the bottle of champagne. "I'm going to ask again: champagne, anyone?"

"I want some," Jonas said, sitting up.

Caradoc popped the cork and poured some into a glass, passing it to Jonas. "Do you remember Garth's last name yet?"

Jonas took a sip of the champagne. "No, not yet. Klaas might remember."

"Pardon me, but…" Gawain moved to sit with Jonas. "How does a US military sniper end up working for some asshole corporate type guy? I mean, I know you were wounded, but there's a lot of jobs out there."

"I didn't start out like this. Ever been on the Darknet?"

"You were an assassin for hire?" Caradoc asked.

"Pretty much. I did whatever jobs were available. Then Klaas hired me."

"I'm guessing to kill off competition," Gawain said. "No wonder he's so successful. Did you kill the heads of his rival companies?"

"Actually, no. My first job with him was a hacker who stole some on the company's money. We've got it back now."

The computer produced a tone, and Gawain moved back into the seat in front of it.

Caradoc poured himself a glass of champagne. "Buy you'd say you were responsible for Klaas being successful?"

"Partly."

"Oberon just replied," Gawain said. "He said he got a match almost instantly." She turned the screen to face them. On it was the face of an older man with thin hair and a warm smile on his face. He was standing at a podium, in front of a crowd of people.

"That's him," Jonas said.

"Garth Hendricksen. Born in Pennsylvania, graduated with a degree in law. He was-"

"Wait, Garth Hendricksen the US senator?" Caradoc asked.

"Spot-on. Here's the catch: he died on V-day."

Caradoc choked on his drink. He took a few seconds to cough, and then looked up. "That's impossible. Merlin's signal killed everyone."

"Apparently not."

"If not, then who else survived?"

"I don't know about that, but I know something else."

"Yeah?"

"We're going to kill Garth Hendricksen."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"To Tristan," Arthur, the _de facto_ leader of Kingsman, said, raising his glass of whiskey. He was an African-American man with dark hair and a lined face.

Gawain raised her glass to the holograms of the other agents from around the globe. "To Tristan," she repeated with the others. She tipped the whiskey back, letting it burn down her throat, and then set the glass lightly down on the dining table.

"As per regulations, each of you should send me a proposal for the next Tristan. Have them in New York HQ by the fifth of March, please. I'll see you all later."

Gawain removed her glasses, slipping them into her pocket. "I've nobody to recommend."

Caradoc put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to. I'll go through the list and pick two, if you want."

"No, no, I'll find someone. Tristan was a hell of an agent, wasn't he?"

"We all die at some point, Val. Nobody's invincible."

"But it's so easy to feel that way. We've bulletproof suits. Umbrellas that can fire shotgun shells and 9mms. It all seems a little far-fetched sometimes that one of us would just _die_."

"We can avenge him."

"And we will. But we can't make the same mistake again. From now on, we're going everywhere together, okay?"

"We can't do that all the time."

"We have to try." Gawain fiddled with the whiskey glass. "We can't let our guard down any more."

"Val-"

"Please, just do it, okay? If not for you, then for me."

Caradoc stood up. "I don't know. But I'm going to see Jonas. You coming?"

Gawain nodded, standing up and following him out of the dining room. They ascended the stairs, past the lab, where Oberon and Fischer were locked in a heated discussion about something they couldn't hear.

Jonas was on the bed, staring at the ceiling when they entered his cell. He sat up when he saw them, a hopeful look on his face.

"Who's your girlfriend?"

"Karlien. Karlien Ahlers."

"We'll protect her, don't worry," Caradoc said.

Gawain opened a link to Oberon via her glasses. "Hey, look up a Karlien Ahler for me, will you? Jonas says he'll co-operate if we get her to safety."

"Will do. Come see me in a few minutes," Oberon said.

She hung up.

"Tell me about the Frenchman," Caradoc said.

"He's fast. Really fast. And quiet. Uses a Beretta M9 with a silver silencer."

"That doesn't help much," Gawain said.

"He doesn't talk much. He's Garth's bodyguard or something."

"Whoever he is, we'll deal with him. What about Klaas? Whose side is he on?"

"I don't know. They've been keeping us separate ever since I...ever since I shot you. Sorry about that."

"It's fine; you had no idea what you were getting into. Who wouldn't take the opportunity for revenge?" Caradoc asked.

Gawain looked down at the floor. "Garth is a politician. He might be able to lie and cheat better than any of us here, but let's face it, he can't be the one organising this. He wouldn't know how to deal with us."

"I had that feeling too," Jonas said. "I see him with an earpiece sometimes."

"If we can get that earpiece off him, we can track it," Caradoc mused. "Maybe…I don't think you'll like this one bit, Val."

"What?"

"We let Jonas go back to Garth."

"What? No way. Not fucking way. He's going to rat on us."

"Let's talk somewhere else." Caradoc threw the door open and marched out, closing it when Gawain was in the corridor with him.

"I'm not letting the bastard out of my sight." She crossed her arms. "Not for a single fucking moment. He shot me and he killed Tristan."

"For the last time, Val, get your shit together!"

Gawain looked away. "It doesn't change what he did," she whispered, and hugged herself even tighter. Inside, she wanted to cry. But she couldn't. Not in front of Caradoc, and definitely not when she was going to see Oberon next.

She grit her teeth.

"But he did those things for a reason. Both times thanks to Garth."

Gawain gave him a dismissive wave. "I'm going to see Oberon," she said, before opening the lab door.

Fischer was tinkering with one of the cufflinks on the table, and looked up when she came in. "Oh, good morning, miss."

"Oberon."

The techie turned in his seat, his lips pursed. "Can we...can we talk for a moment? Like, alone?"

"Doc, out," she said.

Fischer gave her a confused look, and then scurried out through the door.

"I searched the database for Jonas' girlfriend."

"And what did you find?"

"I'm sure you recognise her." Oberon turned the screen towards Gawain, displaying the image of a girl in her twenties, with dark skin and cherry red lips. Cherry red lips that went well with the red dress Gawain had chosen for her.

"Oh, fuck me running."

"I need you and Dirk to secure her immediately. Before Sagramore finds out, that is."

"You haven't told him?"

"He'd freak out. You know how horribly he does under pressure. Look, you just need to grab her and take her to one of the safehouses downtown, alright?"

"You think Garth knows who we all are?"

"It's highly unlikely, but…"

"But what?"

"It means someone does. Valentine didn't know everything. He couldn't have told Garth everything about us."

"Exactly. So who's his boss?"

"I'm going to need a lot more information before I can tell you that. But right now you need to go and get Karlien."

Gawain nodded. "Fine. I'll get her to the one next to the theatre. Where's she?"

"Right now, her apartment. She just entered."

"Put it on Dirk's GPS."

* * *

The Frenchman never even looked away for a second, his eyes drilling into the back of Klaas' skull. "Are we ready?"

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Sighing, Klass gave the order.

* * *

They pulled into the parking lot just behind the apartment. "Looks cozy enough," Gawain said.

"Jonas is dating Sagramore's daughter?"

Gawain shrugged. She opened the door and jogged towards the fire escape stairs. She made her way up the partly rusted steps with the flaking dark green paint and to the third floor. There, she rapped her knuckles on the glass three times.

"Uh, Val..." Caradoc started.

The blinds were brushed aside by a Hispanic man holding an machine pistol.

She moved sideways, drew her own pistol and fired it through the window, into the man before falling flat against the fire escape.

Bullets tore through the window from inside.

"Val, catch!"

She turned and reached out just in time to catch her umbrella. With the flick of a latch, it blossomed open, and she stood up.

The gunfire from the men inside failed to penetrate the umbrella's canopy, and Gawain turned the handle setting to "shotgun". She pulled the latch again, blowing the men back against the other wall of the room.

Panicking, they filed out the door of the apartment.

Gawain looked down at Caradoc, who was parrying a soldier's combat knife with the sword Oberon had installed in his umbrella. She switched her own setting to "Lethal", and blew a hole in the soldier's chest.

Caradoc reassembled his umbrella. "I had him."

"No, you didn't." She jumped down to the second floor, then first, the onto the ground. "You're terrible at swordfighting."

"I know these men."

"Garth's?"

"No. Harker's. They're the ones who almost shot me dead when I went to ask about Jonas."

"They any good."

"Nah. Most of them are ex-military but we can probably kill an entire battalion."

"Karlien's not in her room."

"So either Oberon got it wrong, which I highly doubt, or they've already got her. How many inside?"

"There were four, I killed two. There's gotta be some out front."

"Let's pay them a visit." Caradoc pulled the trunk of his car open, revealing more mags for their TT-30 pistols nestled inside, next to a pair of HK416s and their spare clips. He handed one of the assault rifles to Gawain, with two extra magazines.

"Oh, my favourite." She pulled back the charging handle.

"Just let me lead, okay?"

"I'm feeling good today. Let me try." Without giving Caradoc any more time to speak, she stepped out from behind the corner they were parked in.

A soldier was in a similar position to her, poking his head around the corner.

Gawain flicked the fire mode to semi-automatic, and put a bullet in his head. Keeping one shoulder against the wall, she moved along it, Caradoc at her back.

At the corner, a soldier holding a combat knife jumped out, slashing. She ducked, feeling the knife whistle over her head, and rammed her shoulder into his abdomen, driving him backwards.

Caradoc ended him with two rounds through the chest.

Gawain leaned out of the corner, keeping her rifle aimed. She saw the barrel of a rifle poking slightly out from behind a pickup truck. "I only see one," she said, ducking back into cover with Caradoc. "Behind the truck."

"My turn to shine."

"Wait-"

Caradoc burst into action, sprinting out of cover and across the field of view of the hidden soldier. He made a sound Gawain could only describe as a giraffe with emphysema.

She leaned out again, and as expected, the soldier was taking aim at Caradoc. She fired a single bullet that missed his head, but blew throughout shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon.

Caradoc finally stopped making the painful noise, and hid behind a tree. Two more soldiers inched out from behind the truck, only to be blown apart by automatic fire from Gawain herself.

"Clear!" Caradoc shouted. "I don't see anyone else."

"Check that side, just in case," she ordered. She walked over to the truck, her gun aimed just in case.

The man she had shot in the shoulder was propped against the side of the truck, clutching his wound. "I surrender," he croaked weakly.

"Where's the girl?"

He shook his head. "Not here anymore."

She jammed the gun to the side of his head. "Where is she!?"

"I don't know."

She kept the gun there for a few moments, sighed and then swing it, slamming the rifle stock into his face. She turned around, just to see the front door opening, a soldier exiting the building.

Caradoc sprayed the man just as he came out, tearing him into a bloody mess. He jogged over to her. "You alright?"

She pushed him away. "I'm fine."

"Clearly, you're not. You're bleeding."

She followed his line of sight down to the edge of her lapel, where a dark red patch was spreading across her white shirt. "Must be the rolling, it's nothing." As the adrenaline cleared out of her system, she felt the headache-causing throbbing from under her ribs again. She sat down next to the unconscious men, and called Oberon over her spectacles.

"I saw everything. Already looking for her," Oberon said. "Don't worry, they can't have gone far in that amount of time."

"You got us the wrong intel."

"Sorry. Someone hacked the cameras and looped the after you left. Or at least, that's what I think happened."

She looked at Caradoc, who smiled. "I can understand that. Now get ba-"

"You're cracking up, Oberon."

He didn't reply.

"Oberon?"

She heard only gunfire. Automatic gunfire.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"The reckoning is nigh, my friends," said the woman in the black dress and black masquerade mask. "At this very moment is our second direct attack on Kingsman. Soon, the Netherlands will be devoid of their influence, as we have previously done with Sweden."

The Briton raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"What country is next on Mr. Hendricksen's list?"

"From what I've gathered, he will cross that bridge when he gets to it. Although, he's shown interest in Germany next."

He put his hand down, satisfied.

The Singaporean was the next one to put her hand up. "Will his operations interfere with Singapore's current trade routes?"

"As always, we try to keep economical impact to a minimum, but we can't account for every eventuality. If it comes to that, I'm sure Mr. Tahal would be pleased to aid you financially until a long-term solution can be found."

The Arab nodded to her from the other side of the circular table.

"Any more questions?"

The South African representative raised his palm. "There will be equality for the people of my continent, will there?"

"Naturally. Once we destroy Kingsman, we will be able to freely operate around the globe. Then your people will get their equality."

The Chinese minister frowned. "But what of Valentine? Have you forgotten that he failed?"

"Valentine didn't operate under our jurisdiction. Call his failure a...a test run, if you will. We know better now." She brushed a loose strand of hair back. "I'll see you all again in a few months, ladies and gentlemen."

They stood up in unison, grasping their briefcases and folders.

"Bon voyage," she said.

* * *

Caradoc twisted the steering wheel, sending their Mercedes around the corner, the sound of sirens tearing after them. "See any ramps I can use?" he asked Gawain.

"This isn't an action movie!"

"That was worth a try!" He jammed their car into a narrow alley, but one of the police cruisers kept chase, an officer fitting out the side window at him. His bullets bounced off their bulletproof chassis and windows.

He burst out of the alley onto a busy street, almost t-boning a truck, and resumed his path on the correct side of the road. "They still coming?"

"Yes!"

"Toss a grenade, will you?"

"What, no! We don't kill cops, remember?"

"If we don't kill them, they're going to kill us." He turned off another road, heading out of the city."

"I'm not blowing them up! Just keep driving!"

There was the sound of rotors, and a helicopter appeared in the side mirror. A laser dot glowed the dashboard in front of Caradoc. "Stop the vehicle!" boomed a voice from above. "Stop now or we will shoot!"

 _Go fuck yourself_ , he thought. "Val, do we still have ziplocks in the back?"

She held one up next to his face. "Last one."

With one hand, Caradoc pulled his phone out of his trousers pocket and dropped it into the bag. "Yours too."

"You're not seriously going to, are you?"

"You know me; I'm normally serious."

The sniper in the helicopter blew right side mirror off, before the laser dot moved across to rest on one of Caradoc's hands.

He twisted the wheel one last time, and sent the car over the edge of a slope, and crashing into water.

Caradoc opened the glove box, removing two oxygen masks fitted with tanks, and handing one to Gawain. He pulled his own over his face just as the trickles became streams, and the water level rose. He pushed the window lower button, and the bulletproof side window lowered, causing even more water to torrent in.

He put one foot to the other, closed window, and pushed with all his might, launching himself out through the open one.

He kicked and cycled his arms in the murky river water, heading for the opposite bank. The oxygen tank hovering above the level of his head was going to last twenty minutes at most, which in his book was enough time for the police to stop looking in one area.

When the second hand on his watch had gone around eighteen times, Caradoc kicked downwards, creating thrust to lift himself to the surface. He broke out of the water, and to little surprise, the police were had moved down the bank, too far away to see him emerge.

Caradoc clambered onto the bank, removing and tossing the oxygen mask into the water. He sat there for a moment, until Gawain broke the surface as well, climbing up next to him. She twisted her hair, water dripping out of it, and then laid next to him. "That was close."

"We're not out of the woods yet." He stared at the cops patrolling the bank. "What happened to Oberon?"

"I don't know. He was talking to me and then someone was firing a machine gun."

"You think HQ's been attacked?"

"Highly unlikely, but it's not impossible. We've seen what Garth can do with just Jonas, so I think it's safe to assume he's responsible. Still, Sagramore and Oberon and Holly make a pretty good defensive force. Even better if Jonas helps out."

"But he's not back online?"

"He's probably still fighting."

"We should go check on them, just in case." Caradoc pulled himself up, and held out a hand, which Gawain took. He pulled her to her feet.

"I'll go find a car."

"That's a good start. Maybe they'll be waiting for us with snacks."

"They better be."

* * *

"You did well, Mr. Hekkers," Garth said. "My boss is pleased."

"Didn't you say _bosses_ last time?" Klaas was pouring himself a glass of iced tea. He needed that, after what he'd seen.

"My bosses are regional."

"What are you part of anyway? How does one find out about stuff like Kingsman?" He sipped the tea.

"We don't have a proper name, but our agents are numerous. Global. To say it simply, we fight for the survival of humanity."

"Like that guy Valentine?"

"Valentine knew us. But he was never really one of us. Always wanted to go along with his own plans. Now he's six feet under. Go figure."

"Next you're going to tell me that you killed him."

"Actually, we were going to. His plan wasn't feasible." Garth's hand touched the back of his neck. "But then that boy - Galahad - did it for us. We didn't even have to lift a finger. Win-win."

"So why now? Why target Kingsman now?"

"Because now they're getting in our way."

"Your way of what?"

Garth turned to Klaas, an eyebrow raised. "Do I look like a Bond villain, Mr. Hekkers?"

"Actually, you kind of d-"

"I'm not a Bond villain. Do as you're told and keep to that. Otherwise, you know what we're capable of."

"What about Jonas?"

"That boy has so much potential. But I think it's time we sacrificed a bishop."

Klaas said nothing.

* * *

"Of all the cars you can hotwire, you choose this one?" Caradoc slammed a palm on the top of the dashboard of the Mini Cooper he was driving. "No offense, but it looks absolutely horrendous."

"The police won't suspect a thing. That's the point."

"Still, couldn't you have gone for the Lamborghini?"

"Something that expensive probably has a laser-cut key lock. And there's probably some sort of hotwire protection in place. We'd just die of old age before we got it started."

"You know how you keep making valid counter-points to me? I hate that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Caradoc saw Gawain smile.

The approached the castle, nothing looking out of place. "You're right; they probably handled it," Caradoc said. "Wait, what's-" His breath caught in his throat. He opened the car door, and took one step at a time towards the automatic doors, which were jammed.

An arm was between the doors, preventing it from closing. And connect to the arm was Sagramore, a particularly large hole in his chest.

Gawain pulled the door open, slipping inside.

"Val!" He gave Sagramore one last look, and entered the castle, pistol in his hands. Gawain was ascending the stairs, her gun in front of her.

Caradoc ran towards her, and got to the top just to see Gawain taking over behind a column.

Three of Harker's mercenaries were crouched on the ground, aiming their rifles down the corridor where Oberon's lab and office was.

He shot one of the in the head, and ran towards the other two. As they turned to the sound of his first shot, he used his momentum to fall towards the floor shoulder-first, rolling past them and stopping in a crouch. He shot both of the mercenaries in the head in rapid succession.

"Oberon!" Gawain called, moving down the corridor.

Holly poked her head out from behind another column. "Oh my god you're here!" She hugged Gawain. Her eyes were red-rimmed.

"Where's Oberon?" Caradoc asked, picking up an assault rifle and aiming it down the corridor.

"He got shot so I locked him in the office. Sagramore-"

"I know," Caradoc said. He back towards the office door and turned the knob.

Oberon was leaned against a desk, clutching his bleeding stomach. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell, still breathing.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Caradoc said, pressing two fingers to Oberon's pulse. "We have to stabilise him."

"Give me a moment," Gawain ran out and into the lab.

Caradoc kept his hands on Oberon's neck, applying pressure to reduce blood flow. "Holly, where's Jonas and Dr. Fischer?"

"They took Dr. Fischer. Jonas went after the guy in the suit."

"The guy in the suit? Klaas?"

"Not Klaas. Someone else."

Gawain re-entered the room with a medical bag, and unpacked it, removing the gauze from inside and wrapping it around Oberon's neck.

Caradoc removed his hands, and pointed to the camera in the corner of the hallway. "We should be able to get something off the records. Holly, with me." He and Holly climbed the spiral stairs to Sagramore's office.

At the door, Caradoc stood for a long moment, before turning the knob and entering. The fireplace had been extinguished, and a pool of blood had gathered around a pair of dead mercenaries at the foot of the table.

Shaking his head clear, Caradoc went to one of the bookshelves and tossed out some books over his shoulder, revealing a large LCD touchscreen in the back. "What time did they get here?"

"Ten minutes ago," Holly said.

Caradoc turned the monitor on, displaying a multitude of folders containing video files. He tapped on the folder with today's date, and the the video of the current hour. He scrubbed the progress bar through, to ten minutes ago.

The video was split into four sections: the front yard, the first floor, the second floor and the third floor. In the first, he saw almost a hundred men approaching the front door, and then in the second section climbing the spiral stairs.

The third floor camera showed soldiers taking cover at the base of the stairs to Sagramore's office, and someone out of frame - Sagramore - firing down at them.

Then he saw the suited man.

He was thin and pale and wore glasses, and carried the Beretta with the silver suppressor that Jonas described. The Frenchman.

In the next few seconds, the Frenchman was a blur, leaping off the wall of the stairwell. Sagramore tumbled down the stairs, bleeding and shooting at the soldiers taking cover. He ran down the stairs, appearing on the second floor camera, then the first.

At the first floor, he quickly dodged the mercenaries' fire and eliminated them, before going to the door. The front camera showed twenty-odd men waiting outside, driving him back in with a fusillade of gunfire.

Then Sagramore turned around, and the Frenchman shot him with an assault rifle, the bullets going straight through his suit.

Caradoc replayed the last few seconds a few times, then turned off the monitor. Then he turned it on again and zoomed in on the footage, to the point where the Frenchman's face was most visible. He took a screenshot and saved it onto the cloud.

"Who's he?" Holly asked.

"We're about to find out. Oberon taught you some computer stuff, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to run a facial scan on him. He looks familiar, somehow. And one more thing."

"What is it?"

"We need a new place. HQ isn't safe anymore."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Bad news," Holly said, slamming a folder with a single sheet of paper onto the lab table. "Very, very bad news." She opened the cover, displaying the title of the document nestled inside.

 _Palamedes._

"No fucking way." Gawain snatched the printout from her, and scanned it. Full name: Antoine Dufour. Age: 32. Status: Deceased. "He was one of Valentine's guys. All of Valentine's guys blew up."

"Except for Garth," Caradoc said. "And apparently Antoine too."

"So we're dealing with a rouge Kingsman agent now? Great. Just great. He's already killed one of us."

"How's Oberon?"

"How's he? He's fucking comatose, that's what. We've just lost our online support and our only secure contact with the other teams."

"Val, calm down."

She took few breathers, before sipping her tea. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"Save it. We can deal with this later. Now we need to move; it's not safe here."

"Where can we go?" Holly asked.

"Not the safehouses," Gawain said. "If they know we're in the castle, they might know about all our places. Homes too."

"Let's take the van, then," Caradoc suggested.

"Won't they know about the van?"

"I don't see any other options. Plus, we can all work in there."

"The van it is. Where do we put Oberon? We can't just lug him around until he wakes up. _If_ he wakes up."

"He'll wake up," Holly whispered.

"I've an idea," Caradoc said. "We get one of the Brits to take him. Perceval or Lancelot or Galahad can sail here and pick him up and then take him to safety."

"You forgot that we have no idea how to operate the secure channels," Gawain said. "If Garth picks up our message he'll just get Antoine to blow up the ship or something."

Holly meekly raised her hand. "I could encrypt it."

"How will they know what key to use?"

She lowered her hand.

"I still say we risk a transmission," Caradoc said.

"What if we drive to Paris?" Gawain asked. "Charlemagne's team can cover for us."

"If we cross the border, they'd know. They have our safehouse locations, they know our fake IDs. Unless...unless we get new ones from a local."

"Harker is the only one still operating," Caradoc said. "Do I really have to see him again?"

"We need to get Oberon to safety. You know what? We'll go see him together. I can get him to give it to us."

"I'm telling you, that guy is a complete dick. He'll shoot us on sight."

"He doesn't know me," Holly said. "I can talk to him. He won't shoot me, right? Plus, with all his guys with Garth he won't stand a chance."

Caradoc nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"That's it then," Gawain said, standing up. "I'll ready the van."

* * *

It was the fastest Jonas had run in his life. The Frenchman was fast. Really fast. So fast that he cleared the few hundred metres that was the bridge as quickly as what he felt was Olympic-level speed.

The sweat from his palms soaked through the cuff of his shirt, and dripped down the grip of the TT-30 pistol he had taken from Sagramore's limp body. He'd seen the video feed from the lobby, of the Frenchman taking out Klaas' bodyguards, and then knocking out the receptionist with something launched from his umbrella.

Jonas knew he was outmatched. But he had to try.

He slid over the hood of a passing car, ignoring the driver's angry shouts, and rounded the corner of the street. Ahead, the Frenchman took a running leap onto the hood of a car, and then leapt again, grabbing the railing of a fire escape.

Jonas raised his pistol and pulled the trigger a few times, but his bullets simply ricocheted off the metal. He ran over, grabbed the rungs of the ladder and pulled it down, climbing and and aiming again.

The Frenchman vanished over the edge of roof.

Jonas' footsteps rang on the metal as he sped up the flight and flights of stairs of the six-storey building. He led with the gun and poked his head over the edge.

Just in time to see a suited figure jump off the roof.

Cautiously, he walked over to the edge, and looked down.

The Frenchman had just landed, rolling, on an adjacent roof. He turned around, and flashed a smile at Jonas, before raising his silenced gun.

Jonas ducked as bullets flew overhead, pinging off the concrete edge of the roof and raining particles of paint and rock down on him. When the shooting stopped, Jonas looked over the edge again.

The Frenchman was gone.

* * *

In front of the castle, the the evergreen blades of grass shuddered. But it wasn't the soft breeze that regularly blew through the area. Instead, the grass moved apart, a uniform fissure widening right down the centre of it.

Under the grass was concrete, and then metal, and then the hood of a navy blue news van as it sped up the ramp, and onto the grass.

Gawain drummed her fingers on the leather seat absently, as Caradoc turned them onto the road in silence. Her other hand fiddled at a loose strand of hair on the side of her head, half-attempting to push it back into the bun she had tied.

"Remember when Oberon was going to get Geraint's report?" Holly asked, glancing a little at the unconscious man on the floor of the van.

"Yeah?" Gawain turned in her seat to see her protégé squinting at the computer screen inside their van.

"Turns out he suffered from PTSD. Been going to therapy for a few years now. His psychiatrist wrote here that he got a lot better since he began."

"Clearly, he's not. He killed his entire team except Tristan."

"I can't think of any other res...wait a minute." She the keys violently, bringing up a webpage.

"What is it?" Gawain leaned in, but from her position, she couldn't see the screen.

"This is going to sound extremely far-fetched, but...hypnosis."

"That actually makes sense," Caradoc said. "If someone implanted a trigger in his psyche with a certain codeword, and it was tripped on the boat, he might have...I don't know how it works."

"But who even knows hypnosis? From what I asked Sagramore, Geraint mostly keeps to himself on the boat." Gawain pursed her lips. "We're just getting more questions. Who's the therapist?"

"Er…" Holly tapped a few keys. "A Dr. Edmund Lindblom. He seems solid enough, nothing to do with hypnosis or otherwise. Why?"

"What about days when Dr. Lindblom was absent?"

She scrolled down with the mouse. "A few. Two other doctors. A Dr. Diana Vex and a Dr. Amanda Wallace."

"Look them both up."

As Holly returned to the database, Gawain turned to Caradoc. "You're taking this a hell of a lot better than me."

"Nothing new," Caradoc said.

"I guess you could say that."

"No, what I mean is, before you became Gawain, there was...there was a guy."

"Did you love him?"

"What? No."

"I'm just trying to maintain levity."

"His name was Aaron. Stayed with us till the very end. Except he was checking in with our military contact on three days before we brought you in. Fucker ratted him out to the gangs. They found him...well, everywhere. Grenade launcher, the police said."

"You never told me about this."

"I didn't think it was important. And since you were taking up the title, I didn't want you to think you'll end up like him."

"So why now?"

"Because that day taught me that shit happens. Everything can go wrong, and you can't you a thing about it. Today was bound to happen, with or without us. That's why it's nothing new."

Gawain bit her lip.

"Guys," Holly said. "So I checked Dr. Wallace, and she came up clean. She's even outspoken against hypnotism."

"She could be drawing attention away from herself," Gawain said.

"No, she's not. She's dead. A few weeks after her last appointment with Geraint. The most interesting part?"

"Don't leave us hanging, go on."

"Dr. Vex isn't even a doctor. But this schedule says she covered for Dr. Lindblom the week immediately after."

"So what is she?"

"No idea." Holly took off her glasses, and massaged her eyes. "I found five people named Diana Vex, and none of them have ever been to Sweden."

"So she's using a false name?"

"Either that or someone's erased her from the records. Know anyone who does that?"

"Only Merlin and Oberon. Whoever they're working for they've got a lot of resources at their disposal."

"I've been thinking," Caradoc said, just as they entered the city. "What if their entire purpose is to destroy us? Destroy Kingsman?"

"Then they're royally fucked," Gawain said. "We're not going down that easily."

"Heads up," Caradoc said. "Ten minutes and we're there. Val, you grabbed sniper rifles?"

She picked up the large duffel bag lying next to Oberon. "I got our favourites."

"Holly?"

She held up a black dress on a coathanger. "I'll look horrid in this."

"No way, you'll look great," Gawain said. "Just try not to get shot, alright?"

"Let's do this," Holly said, grinning.

* * *

Jonas pulled the trigger on the underbarrel shotgun attachment of the TT-30 the second the elevator doors opened. He heard a grunt, and then a shout, and suddenly the gun was out of his hand, the Frenchman's own weapon jammed into the centre of his throat.

Garth was sprawled on the floor, holding his bleeding shoulder. "Fuck this hurts!" he grunted through his teeth. And then he started laughing.

"Should I kill him?" the Frenchman asked.

"No!" Klaas shouted, walking out of the bedroom. "He still works for me, we can use him t-"

"You predicted well, Jonas, I'll give you that. Antoine, shoot him," Garth said.

Klaas sprinted across the room, slamming into Antoine and wrapping an arm around his neck.

Antoine lowered the pistol, raised it at Klaas and fired three times into his chest.

Jonas tackled Antoine's legs, pushing him to the floor and wrenching the gun out of his hand. He twisted it towards Antoine, and pulled the trigger once.

Antoine shuddered at the force of the bullet blocked by his suit, and then twisted the gun away from his face. "Nice try." He slammed his foot into Jonas' abdomen, launching him across the room.

He picked up the fallen gun and aimed down the sights at Jonas.

"Wait!" Garth shouted. "Throw him over the side."

"Why?"

"It'll look like he killed his boss." He indicated Klaas' limp form on the ground. "And then committed suicide from the guilt."

Antoine mumbled something in French, and pulled the glass door to the roof open, grabbing Jonas and shoving him through it.

Outside, a strong gust of wind was blowing across the surface of Klaas' swimming pool, creating miniature waves. antoine pushed Jonas to the edge of the roof, and pressed the gun to the back of his head. "Jump."

"Not a fucking chance."

The pistol was smacked across his cheek, pain jolting through his skull. "Jump now."

The silencer moved away from the back of his head, and Antoine fired one past his ear. "Next shot is in your head."

"Fine," Jonas raised a foot over the edge of the roof.

"Go on."

Jonas swung the leg back, kicking Antoine in the shin. He ran past Antoine, who was aiming. The next thing Jonas felt was a small impact in his thigh, and before he knew it, he tumbled off the other side of the roof.

As he fell, he raised his middle finger one last time at Antoine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Oh she's _good_ ," Caradoc mused, peering through his night-vision scope. The sun had set, and the pier was shrouded in complete darkness, with the exception of Harker's floodlights around his compound. "I'd totally hit that."

He felt something pricking the skin on his left wrist.

"Oi!" He rubbed the pinched area. "What was that for?"

"Look, one, she's way too young for you," Gawain said. "Two, she's my apprentice, not yours, and I don't approve. Three, she'd castrate you if you even tried."

"Worth a shot." He looked back through the scope of his Accuracy International AX50, at the slim figure of Holly that was holding a half-filled bottle of whiskey, stumbling towards a man leaning against the outer wall of the compound.

Harker.

Holly groaned over the radio, and dramatically slumped against the wall. "Good evening," she mumbled.

Harker inched away from her, tossing his cigarette onto the gravel and crushing it with his heel.

In three seconds flat, Holly swung one arm around Harker's neck, putting him in a headlock and turning him to face Caradoc and Gawain. "Make a sound and I'll snap your neck like a chicken," she whispered.

Caradoc flicked the switch on his laser sight module mounted on the barrel of his gun, and a red dot appeared on Harker's chest, spot-on with the crosshairs. Gawain did the same, and an identical dot appeared next to his.

"You see that, Mr. Harker?" Holly asked. "One word from me and you're dead. Two holes in your chest, and all that money will have to go unspent."

Harker shuddered. "Are you with them?"

"Depends on who _them_ is."

"Kingsman."

"Oh, no, Mr. Harker. My employers are rather...different. We want some identification cards, to get straight to the point."

Caradoc whistled. "Straightforward too. She'll make someone a good wife someday."

Gawain slapped on his arm. Hard. "I've already given you three reasons, and I know you don't want a fourth. Besides, she's not into guys."

"What? You serious?"

"She told me over lu-"

 _Click_.

"Don't move," said a heavily-accented voice from behind them. "Turn off your lasers."

Slowly, Caradoc reached forward, and flicked the switch off, the dot on Harker disappearing. He kept his eye in the scope, and his crosshairs on the arms dealer. "I didn't think you'd be here, Nassor."

"Neither did I. Put the guns away and look at me."

Caradoc moved his eye from the scope lens, and turned to face Nassor. The big African was standing right above them, holding a pair of Glocks pointed down at their backs. "Stand up. Slowly."

He got to his feet, leaving the AX50s on the edge of the container. "You're quiet, I'll give you that."

"Back in Africa, I came from a family of hunters. They taught be how to sneak up on an animal, and break its neck before it even knows you're there."

"Then why not break our necks?" Gawain asked.

Nassor lowered the pistols. "I would never shoot an ally."

Caradoc raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"In Africa, we use warrior names, not unlike how you use the name of knights."

"Holy fuck you're a Kingsman." Caradoc sighed. "You didn't even fucking tell me the last time."

"I'm going to need more proof than that," Gawain said.

"No identification, sorry. I have been undercover for the last decade, tracking weapons from the Congo Republic to here. I can get you your fake IDs."

"Good enough for me," Caradoc said. "Now we need to arrest Harker."

"No," Nassor said. "I am very close to getting the supplier. The man who sends guns and bombs to Harker."

"Then how do you suggest we do this?"

"Shoot me in the leg. Then drag me to him. I am the only guard left since the businessman hired everyone."

"I'm not fucking shooting you."

"Fair enough." Nassor pointed one of his pistols down at his leg and pulled the trigger. A red hole appeared in his trousers, and he fell over, moaning.

"Jesus fuck, man."

"Take me to him!" Nassor commanded.

Gawain grabbed Nassor by the collar, and shoved him off the side of the container. He landed with a cry.

"Whoa, Val, what the hell?"

"We're getting him to Harker."

"You didn't have to do that." He lowered himself over the side of the container. "He's one of us."

"That's what he told us. doesn't mean it's true."

"Have some faith." Caradoc put Nassor into a headlock like Holly had done to Harker. He pointed one of the Glocks at the African's head.

"Didn't you say that shit happens earlier? What if shit happens now?"

"Then we deal with it, like I said." He pushed Nassor in front of him, towards where Holly was holding Harker in the same position.

Harker's eyes widened when he saw Caradoc, and he clawed at Holly's arm around his neck.

"Let him go," Gawain said.

Holly shoved Harker forwards onto the gravel, and cracked her knuckles. He scrambled to the wall, where he pressed himself against it. "I'm sorry, okay? Please don't kill me!"

"Relax," Caradoc said, pushing Nassor towards him. "We're not here to kill you. We just want fake IDs."

Harker's look of horror was suddenly replaced by smile. "You could have just said so!"

"And let your men shoot me? I'd rather not."

"There's only Nassor here, man. The businessman took the rest of them."

"How much did he pay you?"

"More than I'll probably ever earn in my entire life." Harker rubbed his hands together. "Now, you want IDs?"

"Ones that are already on the database."

"Oh, I can get you some." He looked at Nassor, and the bullet wound in the latter's leg. "You didn't have to do this."

"Give us the IDs," Gawain said.

Harker scrambled to his feet. "We have to go inside. Then we can take photos and put them on the cards."

Caradoc kept the pistol aimed at Harker for a long moment. "Fine," he said lowering the gun. "But delete everything afterwards."

"Wonderful!" Harker clapped his hands. "Nassor, can you stand?"

"A little bit," he grumbled.

"That's fine. You'll be doing the image editing anyway."

Holly crossed her arms. "I'm starting to feel like this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

I wouldn't call it that," Caradoc said. He flicked the barrel of his pistol from Harker to the warehouse shutter. "Get going."

* * *

Jonas laid dazed on the ground. Above, he saw the roof of Klaas' skyscraper, and the moon hovering over it, shining its yellow-tinted brilliance onto him. Klaas was dead. He wasn't. He sat up slowly, a constant pain burning through the muscles in his back, spreading down to his thighs.

It hurt particularly in his left thigh, where there was a red bullet hole.

He was on some sort of terrace that extended out from the side of the skyscraper, that had broken his fall and saved him. The ground was green, and had a rubbery texture.

 _Badminton court_ , he thought. He recalled smashing several shuttlecocks over the net and to Klaas' feet, earning shouts of frustration from him. Good times.

A head appeared over the edge of the roof.

Jonas half-stumbled, half- ran towards the door connecting the court to the rest of the building, just as Antoine began shooting. He pushed the metal handle and went straight for the elevator, jamming the call button repeatedly.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs in the mostly empty building, and a shape flashed in the darkness of the stair well.

The elevator door opened.

Jonas dived in, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets from Antoine's silenced weapon. He smashed the lobby button with a fist, making the doors close, and the elevator descend.

Ten seconds later, he pressed the button for the second floor as well. Antoine would know where to wait.

The elevator stopped at the second floor. Jonas made his way out, and across the landing, heading for the fire escape stairs at the end. He glimpsed Antoine emerging from the first floor elevator in the lobby below, sweeping the chrome silencer across the empty room.

Jonas pulled the fire escape door open, thundering down the stairs and into the sparsely populated garage.

Then he remembered that his car was still at the airport.

There was the sound of the fire escape door on the lobby floor opening, and then closing, accompanied by footsteps on the stairs.

Jonas ran over to the closest vehicle - a black SUV - and raised his elbow, slamming it on and through the driver's window. He pulled the handle from inside, and ignoring the blaring of its car alarm, climbed inside.

It took Jonas only a minute to hotwire the car.

One of Antoine's bullets shattered the front windshield, raining shards of shatterproof glass onto Jona. He stepped on the accelerator, and the car shot out of its parking space. He grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and twisted it, turning the car towards the ramp of the underground parking lot.

There was a loud screech as the SUV's left side mirror was scratched off on impact with the wall of the ramp.

Jonas allowed himself a smile. At the very least, he wasn't dead. Yet.

* * *

"Smile!" Harker called.

Gawain didn't smile when the flash went off, and neither did Caradoc. "How long until you can replace the photo?" Caradoc asked.

"Ten minutes," Nassor said, winking at him. "Then you pay us?"

"Pay?"

"Oh, yes." Harker put the camera down on the table where Nassor was working on a laptop. "It's cheap, don't worry."

"You're not getting ashit," Caradoc said.

"Aw, come on, I'm saving your lives! Have some sympathy for once."

"You said yourself Klaas gave you more money than you'll ever earn," Gawain pointed out. "That should be enough."

"And yet you pay two and a half Euros for a burger," he muttered. "How is this different?"

"The difference is," Caradoc said, "McDonald's is an honest-to-god corporation that supplies food, which is essential to human well-being, while you are a greedy, thieving son of a bitch who operates illegally."

"The second one probably applies to both," Holly said, stepping in front of the white screen. "Just take my photo."

After holly's picture was taken, Gawain sat down next to Nassor. "Actually, I think I can pay the two of you."

Harker's eyes lit up. "You can?"

"You'll see. So ten minutes?"

"Yes. It's a bit difficult to get the new photo to blend in with the rest of the card, since it's newer, but give me ten and it'll be ready."

The card printer next to the laptop sounded, and spat out three hard plastic rectangles, each with their faces on it. Harker picked them up and opened another door deeper in the warehouse.

Once the door was closed, Nassor sighed. "I told you I can do it."

"You didn't have to shoot yourself," Gawain said.

"I had to. Mr. Harker puts too much faith in me. He would have ordered me to kill you."

"Do you feel lost sometimes?" Caradoc asked. "Like, you've been one of these guys for how long?"

"Only for one year. Before, I was in worse. Gangs that tortured people for fun."

"Jesus Christ. How many...how many people did you kill? In that time, I mean."

"Sometimes it is better not to know," Nassor said solemnly. "Do not ask me about this again."

Caradoc nodded, and said nothing.

They sat in silence for ten minutes, until Harker emerged from the room. "There, all done." He stuffed the three cards into a brown paper envelope, and handed it to Holly. "Where's my payment?"

Gawain's shoe found its mark between his legs.

Harker made a choking sound, before curling up on the floor and moaning.

"You're not getting shit," Gawain said.

Caradoc laughed, gave Nassor a thumbs-up and turned to his partner and her apprentice. "Parlez-vous français?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

As the sound of chirping birds filtered through the door, Gawain woke up. She opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling fan for a long moment. It spun idly, flicking shadows with its blades across the dim light leaking through the blinds.

"Oh, you're awake," Holly croaked from beside the bed.

Gawain turned her head to the left, just to see Holly, with massive bags under her eyes, tapping away at the laptop. "Did you even sleep?"

"Sleep is for the weak." She chuckled.

"What've you been doing?" She pushed herself into a sitting position. On the screen of Holly's computer was something she recognised almost immediately - a newspaper clipping after V-day, with the death toll and damages written in bold in the top left corner.

"Garth and Antoine somehow survived the detonation signal, yes?"

"Yes, Holly, but you shou-"

"They must have had it cut out somewhere. So I looked for surgeries with their names, or in Antoine's case, his ID, and I found nothing."

"So?"

"So either they got it cut out in some secret facility by the people they work for now, or…" She brought up a well-styled webpage with the image of a portable, stick-like device with buttons. "They used this."

"To be honest, it's more likely they cut it out."

"Bear with me here. If they cut it out, they'd be vulnerable to Valentine's signal. What you see here…" She indicated the object on the screen. "...is a very refined directed EMP device. My theory is that they disabled the explosives in the chip, while maintaining the counter signal."

"Or they could have just cut it out and his in a base like Valentine's. Galahad wasn't affected when he was there."

"Not if they wanted to work during the chaos."

"You're telling me that these people knew what Valentine was going to do."

"Yes, and I'm saying Valentine was one of them."

"There's no evidence to support this." Gawain threw the blankets off her self, and stretched her legs.

"Okay." Holly brought up a couple of pictures on the screen. "Remember this drone? Military grade, only available to the richest countries in the world. What kind of organisation could get something like that?"

"A government agency. Or someone with ties to guys like Harker. Midnight requisition isn't exactly out of bounds, you know."

"It can't be government. We'd be gone by now if a government agency was trying to wipe out Kingsman."

"You really need sleep, don't you?"

"Just...listen to this last part, will you? Here: a guy like Garth isn't government agent material. He's too sloppy. And if they wanted us dead, a government agency would send proper soldiers. Black ops, not mercs like Harker's."

"That's actually a good point." Gawain fell back onto the pillow. "But it's too early in the morning for this, Holly."

"It's three days to Charlemagne. I can figure a lot out in three days."

"I'm going to go take a shower. Sleep, okay?"

Holly opened the mouth to say something, then closed it. She nodded instead.

"Good. Turn the pillow over, though, I think I drooled."

* * *

Harker let out a girly shriek as he was shoved against the concrete wall, and clawed at Jonas' hand as if it would hurt him.

"Where're they?"

"They'll kill me, man. Calm down!"

"Where. Are. They?"

"Nassor!" Harker shouted at he top of his lungs.

Jonas heard a door opening, and flung the arms dealer to the side, still rubbing his throat. He turned to a door inside the warehouse, where the African was stood with legs apart, a gun pointed in Jonas' direction.

"Where'd they go?" Jonas asked, raising both his hands in the air. His eyes darted to the crate Harker was leaning against, to the submachine guns lined up neatly on it.

"I do not know," Nassor said. His aim was frighteningly still - Jonas wondered if it was the steel hands of a man who killed for enjoyment.

"Are they out of the country?"

"Yes!" Harker shouted. "They came to me for the passports. Didn't even pay."

"How long ago was this?"

"Seventeen hours. They'd be in Germany or Belgium by now."

"Which one?"

"I don't know!"

"Wait," Nassor said. "I am not sure."

"Not sure about what, big guy?"

Nassor lowered his gun. "Will you go away if I say it?"

"Depends on what you're going to say." Jonas lowered his hands. "So where did they go?"

"The man said something in another language before he left."

"Oh!" A look of realisation washed across Harker's thin features. "Holy fuck, I didn't even realise-"

"What'd he say?"

"He said...he said 'Parlez-vous français?'. He asked if the woman spoke French. Can you go now?"

"You're telling me they're going to France."

"Yes! Yes, now leave! Please," he added meekly.

Jonas looked at the SMGs again. Then back at Nassor. "Fair enough. But if they're not in France, the both of you are dead, you get me?"

Harker nodded repeatedly.

"Good." Jonas suddenly remembered something. "I'm going to need a passport."

Harker groaned. Loudly.

* * *

"I'm sor-"

"No excuses, Garth!" The woman in the black dress slammed a fist on the circular table, causing Garth's glass of water to jump slightly. He stared at it, keeping his eyes from locking with hers.

"The mercenaries came highly recommended."

"Well, then you were wrong to trust that recommendation. I'm not going to tolerate another failure."

He swallowed. "Yes, Miss. But I don't know where they are anymore."

"They're getting smart." She walked around the back of Garth's chair, her hand running along the edge. "But that's only because you failed to ambush them when they went back to the castle."

"Dr. Fischer was the prior-"

"You had a hundred men!"

He heard her taking a few breaths, and then letting out a drawn-out exhale. Her slim fingers wrapped themselves around his shoulders, not hard enough to hurt, but rigid enough to stop him getting up.

"I apologise. You're not a strategist. I should have sent Marcel instead."

Garth frowned. "Marcel doesn't know the country. Antoine and I do. He wouldn't operate as effectively."

"Spot on, Garth. But from what I've seen, it's been the opposite of that. I played my part and you will play yours, understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good. Now go and find me my targets."

* * *

Caradoc was leaning on the balcony outside when Gawain exited the room, giving one last look at Holly, who was curled up in their shared bed. She assumed a similar position next to him, and took a deep breath.

"I wouldn't do that," he said. "There was a guy smoking down there ten minutes ago."

She nodded. "Five or six?"

"Five. But someone beat me to it. Have you any idea how annoying mechanical keyboards are?"

"That was Holly. I got up at six and a half."

"Jesus. How many hours did she get?"

"None. Stayed up all night trying to find out who Garth works for. Had to send her to bed. Made me feel old."

"Bit of practice is never a bad thing. You'd be a great mom."

She punched him in the arm. "You know that's not how we operate. If Garth or Diana or Antoine finds out about our families we're majorly fucked."

"Well, it's not a rule. You'd just have to keep them away."

"And that worked out so well for Sagramore. You know what happened to his wife?"

"I'd rather not. And now him and his daughter…" Caradoc trailed off, his eyes following a truck as it went down the road.

"Karlien might still be alive. They'll try to use her against us."

"You're going to ask me if I'm willing to do the right thing. For the greater good," Caradoc said, twiddling his thumbs.

"One girl's life, or our own survival. I don't wish it on anybody."

"Yet here we are."

Gawain said nothing. She watched a ten-wheeler rumble down the road in front of their motel, towards the Dutch-Belgian border, disappearing into the trees.

"A lot of people would choose survival."

"Human nature," Gawain replied. "Brings out the best and worst in us. That's how we survived for this long."

Caradoc frowned again. "You think Valentine knew that?"

"Which part?"

"That being human can make us monsters sometimes. Maybe he wanted to end all...all this. Spare the world the future we have for it."

"Everyone is right in a way. Valentine would have saved the Earth, then. How do you think that makes us look?"

"Well, to whom?"

"Holly said Valentine might have be part of the same group as Garth. What if this is all some kind of...glorified revenge plan?"

"Well, the girl's not slept the entire night, so let's take this with a pinch of salt." He left the railing and went to the door of his room. He gave her a little wink before shutting the door.

Gawain made her way down the stairs, and onto the solid concrete parking lot where their news van was. She walked past it and onto the side of the main road, heading towards the tall gas station sign that rose above the treetops.

The cashier gave her a gap-toothed smile as she entered, the buzzer at the doors going off. It sounded distant, which only reminded her of how out of touch she was with normal life. She stalked down an aisle, picking up granola bars and snacks and putting them into a little basket, before looping around to grab the extra-large bottles of water.

The cashier made no comment about her purchase, nor attempted to make conversation with her as she paid in cash and left with a bulging bag of groceries.

It took her a total of ten minutes to get back to the motel, and by that time, Caradoc was outside again, his head half-in the news van.

She dumped the bag in the back. "We can't get saline around here. He's not going to last very long if we don't."

Caradoc pulled a map from the backseat and unfolded it, laying it flat against the floor in the back of the van. "Hospital a few hundred klicks from here," he said, pointing at a red cross on the map.

"We can't leave Oberon there."

"Then we steal the saline. He'll be okay for a few more days, at least. Besides…" Caradoc glanced up to the door of his room. "...he probably needs it more than the people there."

"I'll go wake up Holly." Gawain turned away from him and started for the stairs.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. "No," Caradoc said. "Let her have some sleep. We'll go get the saline."

"Just the two of us?"

He nodded. "Just like the old days."

She felt a grin spread across her face. "Fair enough. Who's driving?"

"You want a go?"

"Hell yeah." She opened the driver's door and climbed in, pulling the seatbelt down and locking it in place. "Did you know my dad raced cars?"

"You may have said it once or twice." Caradoc shifted himself into the passenger seat. "I never really asked."

"Why don't you?"

"I always felt it was a sensitive subject."

"I never liked him," she said. She turned the key in the ignition, making the engine rumble to life.

"Is that why your report said 'estranged father'?"

"Oh, so you _did_ read it." She pulled the gearstick back. "What happened to 'it's what you do that makes you who you are'?"

"I said that to sound like Sagramore."

Gawain laughed, and stepped on the accelerator.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

It was an old, smaller hospital with cracked, dirty white walls and a tiny space to the side to park. Despite the condition of the building, the sign with the red cross at the top of the front wall was brand-new, and spun silently as they approached.

Gawain turned their car into the parking lot and into the parking space closest to the entrance. She opened the door and jumped out with both feet. "So how are we going to do this? Steal it?"

"Pretty much. Faster that way."

"Never thought I'd steal from a hospital." She quickly made her way up the narrow driveway in front of the lobby doors, and through the automated glass doors. Once again, she wrinkled her nose at the smell inside.

Caradoc walked over to the receptionist, and leaned on the counter, chatting up the receptionist. Even without looking at his face, she could tell he was flirting.

She got on one of the two escalators, which brought her to the second floor landing at a snail's pace. Up there, the walls were even more dismal, the wallpaper peeling off in most sections, and there were signs of a termite infestation in the wood underneath.

A doctor pushed this saw through a set of double doors and spotted her. "Hello there, my dear. May I help you?" he asked in his British accent.

"I'm fine," she said. "It's just...my friend is sick." She crossed her arms. "I think he's in a coma."

"Did you bring him?" The doctor looked down into the lobby.

"No, I didn't. He's not here yet. I was thinking we can get set up in a motel not far from here. Please," she added.

"The hospital is better equipped."

"Well, what does a coma patient need?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow, and glanced into the corridor he had come out of before answering. "Glucose solution. Since he cannot eat, he will have to receive nutrients another way. We can provide that here."

"You can bring it to the motel, right?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

Gawain looked down at the floor. "I can't...I can't tell you that."

"If you can't tell me, I cannot help you. If he is really in a coma then the here is the best place he can be."

She shook her head. "Does he need anything else?"

"I don't know what you want, but I really can't help yo-"

She clenched her fists. "What does he need?"

The doctor blinked a few times, and then adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose. "Waste removal. We need to insert a catheter."

"A what?"

"A catheter. A tube into the urethra to remove his liquid waste. Your friend - you need to bring him in. Whatever caused the trauma can be fatal."

"It's not fatal. Trust me, I know."

"Clearly, you don't."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Then what are you running from?"

Gawain paused, her eyes connecting with the doctor's. She shifted her feet on the linoleum floor of the landing. "What if you bring all the equipment you need, and we take you to him?"

The doctor threw up his hands. "Fine. I guess you don't want this going on any records either?"

She exhaled. "Thank you, Doctor…"

"Estok. David Estok. I'm happy to help anyone in need. Now, I'm going to assume you've a vehicle of some kind?"

Gawain nodded, and stepped onto the escalator heading downwards. Its steps shuddered to life as she put a foot on the pressure sensor.

Caradoc was too busy French-kissing the receptionist to notice her walk up beside him and smack him across the cheek. He stumbled back, touching and wincing at the hand-shaped red mark on his face.

"What was that for?"

"Not spending your time wisely. Let's go."

"But you haven't got…" He looked at the receptionist and trailed off. "Sorry dear, got business to conduct."

"Outside. Now." Gawain jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the door.

The receptionist cocked her head at Dr. Estok, who gave her a dismissive wave before following Gawain out of the lobby.

"That hurt," Caradoc said.

"Then you shouldn't have kissed her. This is Dr. David Estok, and he's going to take care of Oberon."

"Val, you sure?"

"Yes. Oberon needs a waste removal procedure, and we can't do that ourselves."

"What about Google?"

"You want to try insert a tube up his...up his thing, be my guest, Dirk. I'd rather have a professional do it."

"Who are you people?" Dr. Estok asked.

"Not important," Caradoc said. "How long is it going to take you to get your stuff?"

"Ten minutes. You have a car?"

"A van. This better be good, doctor."

Estok nodded and rushed back inside.

* * *

Police sirens were the last thing Garth expected to hear in the area. He walked once around the compound, trying to find a crack in the walls he could peek through. When he didn't find one, he approached the pair of officers standing sentry at the gate, which had been torn off its hinges.

"Good day, officers," Garth said.

They said nothing in reply.

"What's going in on in there?"

"There's a police investigation in place," the officer on the left said. "Civilians are not allowed beyond this point.

"An investigation? What of?"

"Illegal smuggling, sir," the other officer said. "We're not allowed to disclose any more."

"Well, you chaps have a good day." He walked back around the other side of the compound and dialed a number on his phone.

"What is it now?" a woman's voice came over the line.

"I'm at Harker's. There's police all over the fucking place."

"So he's been arrested?"

"They won't tell me. He might just be somewhere else. Used this place as a decoy or something."

"Find out. Didn't he call you?"

"He said that the two of them were here for passports."

"So they left the country?"

"Maybe. But I can't exactly ask him anymore."

"I'll leak his profile to the police. Harker's no use to us anymore. Come back here; you did what you can."

"Yes, Miss." He hung up and pocketed his phone. For a moment, he stood there, wondering if he should do it.

Garth sighed, cursing his own curiosity and scaled the wall.

* * *

Holly was still asleep when Gawain entered, scrunching the blankets up in her small hands and holding them close to herself. A trail of drool, not unlike her own, had formed from the corner of the mouth and across the pillow.

Gawain sat down at the small table in the corner of the room, and booted up the laptop with the press of a button. The boot screen flared, and then progressed into a desktop with a background with the Kingsman logo on it.

She opened the browser, and accessed the email website they all used.

Holly hadn't signed off.

Her cursor hovered over the "sign out" button, and she looked over at Holly. The girl wouldn't know a thing if she covered her tracks well.

Shaking her head, she clicked, and Holly's account was replaced with a login screen.

Her own inbox was normally sparsely populated, as she had found out was the same for most agents, but today, it was filled to the brim. She hadn't checked it since the incident at the clinic, and now she observed emails from Sagramore, from Caradoc, even one from a UK HQ address she didn't recognise with the subject labeled "Maleagant".

She clicked on the email from Sagramore with the title "Assistance Required", knowing full well what to expect.

 _Valerie, can you come to my office ASAP? I need help with something I'm afraid I'm not too good at. Who am I kidding? I'm terrible at this. How does three o'clock sound?_

 _-Sagramore_

Gawain smiled a little as she read it. Karlien's dress problem now seemed a million miles and a billion years away. And now the poor girl herself was nowhere to be found, very possibly dead by the hands of Garth's men.

She reached up with a finger to wipe the teardrop that had formed in the corner of her eye. Her nasal passages constricted, but she blinked away the thoughts and entered the bathroom, and turned on the warm water.

She splashed some on her face, slicked her hair back and stared at herself in the mirror. Small shadows had formed under eyes, and although she'd slept enough hours the night before, she felt tired. More tired than she had ever been in her entire career. _Must be the running_ , she thought.

Gawain turned off the tap just as the last of their hot water ran out, and went back to the laptop. She closed Sagramore's email and opened Caradoc's instead.

It was a photo of two corgis lying in the grass next to a tree, on their backs and with their tongues out. The accompanying message read:

 _The dogs are doing fine, but Shelia is leaving town next week, so we've to go and pick them up. You with me?_

Gawain instinctively clicked the reply button, then remembered where she was. She closed the emails and flipped the laptop screen down, putting it into a sleep mode.

Caradoc had assumed the exact same position he had been in that morning, leaning over the railing with a thoughtful look on his face. His phone was on one hand, a news site opened on it, but he wasn't looking at it.

She went up to him. "Hey, you okay?"

Caradoc gave her his trademark smile. "Yes, I'm quite okay. Unless you're not asking if I'm okay again?"

"I'll never know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You said you saw your old partner after he got...you know. And then you lost an eye in an explosion, and here you are, acting like none of it ever happened."

"Shit happens."

"But don't you ever get sick of it? Ever thought of trying to fix that?"

"There are some things you can't fix, Val. You just have to accept it and move on." He cast his eyes out towards the road.

"Speaking of fixing, how's Oberon?"

"Doc said he's fine. Awfully brittle, the guy. Cause of the coma is probably him hitting his head on his own desk after Holly dragged him inside."

"Seriously? Thought being shot had something to do with it.

Caradoc shrugged.

Gawain watched an old truck make a sudden, sharp into the motel parking lot, before stopping just out of sight below them. "What if Charlemagne can't help us?"

"You kidding me? His team's the best around after the Brits. And I don't count Galahad and Lancelot anyway since they've only been here a year."

"You've seen what Antoine can do. He killed Sagramore."

"And almost got Holly too. But now we know what we're dealing with. We can prepare to fight him."

"He won't come alone."

"Neither will we. Have you ever seen Roland fi-"

 _Ka-chuck_.

Gawain turned to the barrel of a pump-action shotgun just a few metres from them, loaded and the shooter's finger on the trigger. Jonas smiled at her from the top of the stairs. "Nice to meet you two again."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"You guys owe me a hell of an explanation." Keeping the weapon aimed, he stepped forwards. "And you're going to help me find Karlien."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

For a second, there was no sound inside Gawain's room, with Holly sleeping and Jonas deep in thought.

"It sounds contrived," he finally said.

"I'm sorry?" Caradoc tried to push the shotgun away, but Jonas held it firm in their direction.

"What she said. It sounds contrived. You were reciting something."

"It's our official description," Gawain said. "'An independent international spy organisation operating at the highest level of discretion' sounds contrived?"

"Pretty much," Jonas said. He locked eyes with Caradoc for a long moment, then Gawain, and then propped the shotgun against the wall. "So you're the guys who took down Valentine?"

"Not specifically us," Caradoc said. "That was the team in Britain. But the clean-up was all us, if I remember."

"So you compiled that report as well?"

"I compile a lot of reports."

"The one without a single mention of you people. That credited US Navy SEALs with taking out Valentine."

"I did that one," Gawain said. "Pulled a lot of strings with the White House."

"Jesus, you guys are…" He rubbed his temples. "I don't even know what to fucking think anymore. I'm sorry I shot you."

"Forgiven," Gawain said.

"How'd you find us?" Caradoc asked, eyeing the shotgun leaned against the wall. "We never told anyone where we were going."

"Harker. He heard you say something in French, so I assumed you were going south. I drove all fucking night, and turn into a motel and the first thing I saw is the two of you. Not very covert for a spy organisation."

"That's because Garth knows everything about us," Caradoc said. "Well, not everything. But he's somehow got a copy of our database. You know anything about that?"

Jonas shook his head. "He kept me in the dark. Klaas might know, but…"

"Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry."

"The French guy shot him. And then they tried to throw me off the fucking roof."

"That guy used to be one of us. One of our top agents, too. We didn't expect anything like that."

"Is that why you're running?"

Caradoc nodded. "He's already killed our team leader and put our tech guy in a coma. Guy's a fucking animal."

Jonas rocked back and forth in his chair for a moment, a resting his stubbled chin on the his hand. "Then aren't you glad I'm here?"

"You've done enough," Gawain said. "We don't need your help."

"Fair enough then." Jonas picked up the shotgun and stood up. "I think I'll go to Versailles. Nice enough, and I'll have ample time before Garth hunts me down and kill me." He reached for the doorknob.

"Wait," Caradoc said.

Jonas turned around, smiling. "Yes?"

"How good a shot are you?"

Gawain grabbed his wrist. "You're not serious, are you?"

"I am." He twisted his arm out of her grip, and stood up. "Your file said you used to be in the US military."

"I was," Jonas said, sitting down. "Then I got a little bullet in my leg and they told me I was done."

"And are you done?"

"No, I'm not fucking done. Why do you think I agreed to work with Klaas? I went to Amsterdam to start a new life."

It was Caradoc's turn to smile. "It's not too late to do that. We're down two men, and we can use a marksman."

"On one condition." He crossed his arms and leaned back.

"Yeah?"

"You help me find Karlien. If she's alive, we save her. If she's not...well, I'm going to kill every single fucker I see."

Caradoc looked at Gawain, and she looked back at him. In that swiftly passing moment, he understood the look in her eyes, the twitch in her lips. He turned back to Jonas. "That's fine by me."

"Then I'm in. Do I get a codename too?"

"No, that's only for agents. And we'd never take in someone like y-"

The door opened, and Dr. Estok poked his head in. "I'm done with your frien-"

Jonas' shotgun was suddenly in his face. "Do I shoot him?"

"No!" Gawain pulled the gun out of his grasp and ejected the shells one by one, before tossing the weapon through the bathroom door. "Doctor, take a seat." She pointed to the bed Holly was flopped on.

Estok blinked, shuffled over to the bed and lowered his backside down onto the blankets. "W-what's going on?"

"How's he?" Caradoc asked.

"Uh, your friend...he's completely fine. But comas are unpredictable. I've no idea when he'll wake up, or how he'll be when he does. I'd look further, but we need an MRI, and only the hospital has one."

"We're not going back there, doc," Gawain said. "You're coming with us."

"W-what?" He looked through the bathroom door, at the shotgun lying empty on the floor. "Are you going to kill me?"

"No," Caradoc said. "As long as you keep your mouth shut, we won't do a thing to you."

Estok sighed. "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

"Any combat experience?"

The doctor's mouth began forming the word "yes", but he closed it. "No, I don't have any combat experience. I used to be a vet, though."

"Clearly, you do," Caradoc said. He picked up one of the shotgun shells Gawain ejected and placed it between the thumb and index on left hand. "You were counting the shotgun shells."

"It's not that simple." Estok's feet shifted on the old motel rug.

"It never is. Were you a field medic?"

"No, I wasn't. But I know how to use a gun."

"That's good enough for me," Gawain said. She stood up, picked the shotgun off the bathroom floor and tossed it to Estok. "All yours."

"Who are you?"

"We are…" Caradoc glanced at Jonas, who just smiled. "We are an independent, international spy organisation…"

* * *

"He got himself arrested," Garth said, slamming his phone down on the tabletop. "And tried to get me arrested, too."

The woman in black picked up his phone, scrolling down the caller ID list. "Where'd you get this?"

"I climbed over the wall. It was in one of the evidence bags."

"And nobody saw you?"

"Nobody."

She slid back towards him. "I may have underestimated you."

Garth beamed.

"But I'm going to put Marcel in charge anyway."

"What? Why?"

"You've failed too many times. Harker was our only source of information, and now he's gone. Thanks to you."

"How is this my fault?"

"You could have used Phoenix employees. But you had to go to Desmond Harker and his mercenaries. They're sloppy, you know that."

Garth said nothing, opting to sit down on one of the expensive leather chairs instead. "What now then? We don't know where they are anymore."

"That phone. Give it to Tahal's people and they'll get what they can from it. As for you…you and Antoine can go and assist our good doctor."

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes. Now go."

Garth stood up without another word, pocketed the phone and stormed out of the conference room.

* * *

"So who _are_ you, doc?" Caradoc asked, spooning more of the microwavable macaroni and cheese into his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"Clearly, you don't just know how to use a gun. You were counting the shells. You knew exactly how many there was going to be in the gun and you were going to dive for it if Val hadn't emptied it."

"It's a hobby."

"You're lying." Caradoc set his plastic box down on the bedside table. "There's no way you weren't in the military."

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Estok shook his head. "You're not going to trust me, aren't you? You seem like a smart man, Dr. Beumers. And that's a smart choice."

"I don't trust you according to how this is going. Would you trust someone if they won't tell you about their past?"

"I came here to get away from my own past, thank you very much. You needn't remind me." He bit into his store-bought sandwich. "Besides, the present is now. We can't change the past, but we can sure as hell change the future."

Caradoc nodded.

"What about you? You don't live in the past."

"Enough's happened in the past. I moved on."

"As did I. I'm not going to ask."

"It's getting dark. You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the floor." He scooped the rest of the macaroni cheese into his mouth and dumped the container in the bin.

"No, I'll sleep on the floor," Estok said. "I'll need to check on your friend every few hours anyway. He got a name?"

"I never asked." He was in the process of undoing his necktie when there was the screech of ties. "Doc, get the shotgun."

He pushed the blinds apart, just in time to see a large black truck screech to a stop, and figures in dark clothes jumped out the back. Caradoc pushed a button on his glasses. "Val, we've company."

"I saw," Gawain said. "What do you see?"

He turned on the infrared vision, watching the armed figures run across the parking lot. "TAR21s," he said. "A Blaser Tactical 2 as well."

"There's something else."

"Heavy?"

"Looks like an M32."

Caradoc pointed at the bathroom door. "In there now! With Oberon!"

Estok pulled the door open, shoved the comatose man inside and closed it. "You asked me if I had combat experience, yes?"

"Doc, get in there. There's a grenade launcher."

"We'll hide under the bed." He dropped to the floor and inched into the space.

Caradoc shook his head, and opened the front door.

There were footsteps on the stairs from the parking lot.

He ran and jumped slightly, bracing on the banister with his buttocks, and firing two shots into the black-suited men waiting below. He grabbed a TAR21 as he slid by, and fired in bursts at the truck.

A couple of figures ducked behind the vehicle, and Caradoc spotted the grenade launcher holder standing in the truck bed, the weapon already at his shoulder.

With a soft _poosh_ something small and black flew towards the door of his room.

A massive fireball blossomed across the top floor balcony, sending bits of tattered and burning wood and plaster flying outwards.

Caradoc let loose a burst from his gun at the demolitions man, who dropped flat against the truck bed and popped out to fire back.

More of the suited men rounded the vehicle, firing at him.

He dropped the rifle and sprinted, ducking behind the corner of the motel just as the Blaser boomed and a large piece of the wall next to him had a new hole made in it.

Caradoc pulled out his explosive lighter, set a timer and placed it just around the corner he had just run through. He ran around the back, just in time to see Estok descending the fire escape with Oberon slung over his back.

With a roar, their news van tore through the wire mesh fence behind the building, and its side slammed into the building. Jonas poked his head out. "Get in!"

Caradoc opened the back doors, leaping in and holding it open for Estok, who laid Oberon down gently inside.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Jonas asked.

"She's not my- I haven't seen her!"

"We can't stay here." Jonas stomped on the accelerator, causing their car to shoot backwards, and out through the hole in the fence he had made on entry.

"Circle around," Caradoc ordered, shutting the doors.

Jonas drove in a loose loop around the motel several times, each attracting a bout of gunfire from the soldiers in the parking lot. Still, the armoured exterior held and with the speed he was driving at the grenade launcher wouldn't hit them.

"I don't see her," Caradoc said, his eyes swiping across the screen that was connected to the van's topside camera.

Suddenly, there were blinking lights in the sky.

"Shit!"

"What is it?" Jonas asked.

"Attack helicopter."

"That's it, I'm out." Jonas pushed harder on the accelerator, just as a trail of orange flew past their back and slammed into a grove of trees, obliterating them.

Caradoc pressed the same button on his glasses. "Val?"

There was only static.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The wooden deck of the boat rocked as Garth walked across it, his expensive shoes clacking on the recently-washed boards. He passed dock workers lifting large crates up the gangway, overseen by a pair of Harker's mercenaries, and arrived at a door into the superstructure.

Antoine opened it for him from the inside. "Sir."

Garth stepped in, and shut the door behind him. The hum of the boat's engines resonated through the bulkheads and up his legs, into his bones. "How's Doctor Fischer."

"He's well. Five watching him."

"Good. Have you heard from…"

"Marcel?"

Garth froze. He flexed his fingers at his side, and turned to look Antoine in the eye. "We can't afford any more mistakes."

"I know that. But have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

Antoine handed him a tablet computer.

Garth watched, raised an eyebrow, and pushed it back. "Diana's going to be _so_ pissed," he muttered.

* * *

The coarse burlap bag was whipped off Gawain's head, allowing the extremely bright light in the room to make its way to her eyes. She closed her eyes for a second, blinked a few times to adjust to the intensity and looked at her captor.

A lean Asian woman in military gear was holding the bag, standing next to a wheeled metal cart where all of her equipment was.

Right next to the assortment of knives and saws and pliers.

The room itself seemed dilapidated, with peeling floor and walls and the door was a standard-sized oak thing with holes in it and rusted hinges. A dead rat laid in one corner, half its body already gnawed away by its hungry compatriots.

Her hands felt bound by something equally coarse as the bag - a thick rope, perhaps - behind her back. She wiggled her wrists, but it was secured tightly.

"Nice place," Gawain said. She craned her head to the right, half-expecting to see Holly restrained to another chair, but instead found the rotten old wall. She turned to the left, and came upon a chair.

It had been decorated with droplets of blood, and hand-shaped smear on the seat.

"Where is she?"

"In time," the woman said. "Right now, you're going to tell me exactly where you were heading."

"We were on a road tri- go fuck yourself."

The woman smiled, and picked up a pair of pliers. "I really don't want to have to do this."

Gawain spat.

The glob of saliva landed on the woman's neck, between her shoulderblades. She wiped it off and grit her teeth. "You'll learn. In time."

"Or maybe you should just let me go."

She put one foot on Gawain's chest, and pushed. The chair toppled over backwards, the impact with the floor, jarring her senses.

A hand forced her mouth open, and the pliers glinted under the halogen lamp as the woman raised it above her mouth.

"Enough!" a male voice exclaimed.

The woman paused, as if unsure of what to do next, and then threw the pliers on the floor. She disappeared from Gawain's field of view.

An older European man with salt-and-pepper hair leaned over her, in similar uniform with the exception of a pauldron on his right shoulder. "Please, Miss Izaks, do cooperate. We don't want to ruin your pretty face, do we?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, we've…" He glanced at someone outside her visual range. "We've been quite rude, haven't we? My name is Marcel. This is my lieutenant Jade. Jade, come here."

The woman stepped back into her view.

"We work for some very important people. You might argue that they're the most important people in the world, but I disagree. Importance is subjective."

"Get to the point," Gawain said.

"That's more like it. We'd like to know where your friends are going."

"I thought you'd have figured it out by now."

"I'd like to hear it from you. That and I've very little men at my disposal. Paris is massive; we'd never find them."

"Over my dead body."

"That's what Miss Beckett said," Marcel mused. "And, as you can see." He indicated the chair. "It didn't end very well."

"Not for you either. You didn't get a thing from her."

"An unfortunate sacrifice. Tell you what." He pulled Holly's chair up and sat on it, still looking down at Gawain. "I'll make you a deal. Tell us where Paris HQ is, and we won't shoot all your friends on sight. We'll give them a chance."

"They'll never surrender anyway."

"Then we'll make it quick. Where's your base of operations in Paris?"

Gawain said nothing.

"Very well, Jade."

The woman walked behind Gawain, picked up her chair and set her upright in the middle of the room.

"You're forcing me to use drastic measures, Miss Izaks." He turned to the coor and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Bring her in!"

The door opened with a loud creak, and another soldier carted in a wheelchair with Holly in it. A large piece of duct tape had been placed her mouth, and one of her hands had blood flowing freely from it, from the fingernails that had been pulled out.

Gawain's breath caught in her throat. Holly was a live, at least.

"Miss Beckett didn't know where it was. It took Jade a few hours to start believing her. But you? You know. You can't convince Jade, can you?"

"I'm not giving you shit."

"Jade."

The woman picked up a knife from the steel table, and held it against Holly's throat. "How about now?" she asked.

"Let her go and I'll tell you."

The woman smiled, shaking her head. She flipped the knife over, gripping it do the blade faced down and plunged it into Holly's thigh.

Tears flowed from her eyes as she let out a suppressed scream through the duct tape.

Gawain bit her lip. "You're not getting anything."

"Toenails," Marcel said.

Jade picked the pliers off the ground, and bent to Holly's feet. "Last chance, _putain_."

"...I'll tell you."

Holly's eyes widened, and she frantically shook her head.

Marcel knelt down in front of Gawain. "Good girl. Where is it?"

"Under where the Bastille used to be. There's a hidden elevator."

"Where exactly?"

"I've never been there so I don't know. This is all I have."

"And if you're lying?"

Gawain said nothing.

Marcel scoffed. "It doesn't matter. My man is on the way there now. If he doesn't find your French allies, Miss Beckett dies. If you're lying, say it now."

She cocked her head at him, silent.

"Good." He patted her on the head, and walked out the door, waving at the other soldier and Jade.

They were alone.

"I'm sorry," Gawain said.

Holly said something made incoherent by the tape over her mouth.

"We'll get through this, okay? Someone's going to come and rescue us."

Holly shook her head.

"There's a tracker inside our glasses. He'll know where to find us." Gawain looked over to the tools cart, where their spectacles laid in half, their lenses shattered. "It's going to be fine, Holly, it's going to be fine."

She repeated the same phrase, over and over and over until her throat went raw. Until she needed water. But deep down inside, she knew she couldn't really fool herself, or Holly, for that matter.

It was never going to be okay.

* * *

Gawain had lost track of her hours and minutes by the time Marcel marched back in, without Jade this time, his arms crossed. "You lied."

"I didn't," she said.

"We found nothing. No secret elevator, no anything in the Bastille. But…" He pulled his sidearm - she recognised the unique shape of a Five-seveN - and pointed it at Holly's head. "I want to give you one last chance."

"Shoot her and you'll never get it out of me."

"So you _were_ lying."

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Put the gun away first."

Slowly, Marcel slipped the pistol back in its hostler. "Okay. What now? Where is it?"

"In the catacombs under the Notre Dame. I swear, I'm not lying this time."

"We'll see about that." He took out his cellphone and dialled a number. Marcel listened to it for a long moment, before giving orders in rapid-fire French and then hanging up. "This time, we can talk. When my friend calls and he doesn't find Charlemagne…" He drew a single finger across his throat. "I'll find him myself."

"Can I at least have a glass of water?"

"Of course. Jade!"

The woman opened the door to the room, looking in. "What is it?"

"Lady needs a glass of water."

Jade frowned and disappeared.

"Thank you," Gawain said. "You think it could have been different?"

"How so?"

"If you hadn't joined them. Garth and the others. They're making you do this, aren't they? I can see it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're just a pawn. Someone's pulling the strings, and making you dance. Don't you think you deserve better?"

"If you're trying to turn me against my people, Miss Izaks, I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder than that. A lot harder."

"Smart man," she said. "But not smart enough, apparently."

Marcel frowned, his hand on his hostler. "What are you talking about?"

"Sometimes movies are right, too. Because right now, my partner is heading straight here and he's going to tear you a new arsehole."

"The facility is too well-defended for that."

"You've a dead rat in the corner. And I'm sure you've heard of what happened to Richmond Valentine."

"Valentine was sloppy. I'm not."

"That's what he thought too. That assistant of his - Gazelle, wasn't it? - she was no match for Galahad. And Galahad was barely out of training. Now imagine what an agent of eleven years can do."

"There's no way he can find us. We removed all your trackers." Marcel smiled triumphantly. "Now, speaking of Gazelle, I liked her very much. And your people went and killed her...how?"

"Poison delivered on a blade."

Marcel grabbed the shoes from the metal cart. Behind him, Holly's eyes widened. "These? I've seen Antoine use them before."

"Yes, those. You click the heels together and the blade pops out of the left one."

"You people have such...interesting equipment. Perhaps I should give you a feel of what Gazelle experienced in her last moments."

"Do I look like I can stop you?"

Marcel smiled.

His phone rang. He swiped the screen to answer the call, and listened. His expression went from one of curiosity to a frown.

He hung up. "You're a liar, Miss Izaks."

"Kill me then. You're never getting the actual location."

"With pleasure." He raised the shoes, and clicked the heels together.

Something in the bottom of the shoe _clicked_.

Before Marcel knew what was happening, a smoke cloud had blossomed out of the shoes, obscuring the entire room.

Gawain leaned forwards, and got to her feet. Although her ankles were still bound, she hopped slowly to the side, past a coughing Marcel, and with a grunt, she closed her eyes and jerked her left wrist.

She felt a soft crack, and then a massive bolt of pain shoot up her arm. Gawain lifted her broken wrist out of the loop, shaking, and then navigated it to the knot. It hurt like a billion bee stings in the same area, but she worked at the rope securing her good hand to the chair, biting her tongue to stop herself from screaming.

Suddenly, Marcel's coughing stopped.

The smoke was clearing.

Gawain bit her tongue even harder, and pulled at the knot with all her strength. The pain didn't matter. After all, her life depended on it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"It's gone," Caradoc said. He pulled the van's back door shut, closing out the dark blue night sky and the light emanating from the burning of the motel. "These guys are more organised than I thought."

"What if your friends in Paris don't help us?" Estok asked. He was leaned over Oberon, holding an IV drip bag above his head.

"They'll help us."

"Doc has a point," Jonas said, turning onto the road. "Antoine defected on V-day and he didn't die. He can't be the only agent of yours they saved, can he?"

"Everyone else was accounted for," Caradoc said. "The only missing person that day was Antoine."

"Not if they became a mole right after."

"We'll ask Charlemagne. He'll know."

"You sure they're not following us?" Estok ask, casting a wary glance through the small windows in the back of the van. "I mean, they _do_ have a helicopter…"

"They won't."

"How do you even know that?"

"Because they've got Holly and Val. They know we'll go to them."

"Then don't," Jonas said. "It's simple: they want you to do something, you do the exact opposite."

"I can't just leave her to die."

"Your girlfriend told me you've been a Kingsman for eleven years. You should be used to sacrifice by now. If you told me the entire truth in that gone-to-hell motel room then they won't say shit."

Caradoc opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He shifted from one buttock onto the other in his swivel chair, and switched on the computer. As it booted, he looked down at Oberon, who had a slight smile on his face. _Lucky you_ , he thought.

"You people are fucking insane," Estok said after a long while.

"We're not insane; we know exactly what we're doing," Caradoc said, opening his email and scrolling through the list that appeared onscreen.

"Really? You do? What are we doing right now, then?"

"Getting to Charlemagne. I'm going to send an email."

"And you didn't do this earlier?" Jonas asked. "You said you couldn't contact them because of sleeping beauty over here."

"That's because it's not secure. They've somehow got access to our database and they can see everything. I'm assuming that's how you knew Val was one of us, Jonas. But now they've found us on the border, it's not going to take a genius to figure out we're heading for Paris."

"Wait a minute," Estok said. "If they have access to your database, how do we know the French team aren't all dead by now? Wouldn't they know where your headquarters are?"

"Jeez, doc, you're on fire today," Jonas said.

Caradoc rubbed his stubbled chin. "I-I don't know. You might be right, and I can send this email, but...what if they have an incomplete database?"

"That would make a lot of sense," the doctor said. "Which is why they targeted only you. They only have that intelligence on you, and none of the other teams."

"This is too much." Caradoc rubbed his temples. "We're in too fucking deep. I'm going to send an email anyway, just to be sure."

"What about Valerie?" Jonas asked. "Are we rescuing her or not?"

"As much as I want to, we can't. They probably know we have trackers and they'll be waiting. We just have to push on."

"What if-"

"What if she dies?" Caradoc chuckled. "She's too good for that. And she's not the half-blind one. Val will make it. It's Holly I'm worried about."

She's strong," Estok said. "I can see it in her eyes. Kind of like my wife, actually."

"You're married?" Jonas asked.

"Met her in high school, stuck together through university. These days we don't see each other a lot, but a VOIP suffices."

"What does she do?"

"Forensics. We both started out as vets, but...circumstances forced us on a different path. Or paths, since I'm a surgeon. Everything's fine, though. It's not like I haven't gone a week without calling her before."

"If they find out you're with us they'll go for her," Caradoc said. "Tell her to get to safety, will you?"

"I sent her a message. She'll know what to do." Estok passed the glucose solution bag into his other hand.

Caradoc finished typing his email to Charlemagne, and hit send on the screen. A message box popped up to inform him that it had been delivered. He turned off the screen. "It's done. Wanna talk about something less depressing?"

"Like what?" Jonas asked.

"...pets?"

"I've a pet," Estok volunteered. "A ferret, actually. He's very cute."

"Got any pictures?"

"Not on me right now."

Caradoc nodded. "I've a corgi. When you enter Kingsman, they get you to pick a dog and it's your friend for life. Then they tell you to shoot it."

"And you didn't shoot yours?" Jonas asked.

"I did. Saving the world is more important than one dog. But then again it was a blank, so win-win."

"I'd never be able to do it," Estok said.

"You're a vet, so of course not. I've never had a pet before. There was a dog in the alley next to where I lived, but I was scared my father would kill it if I brought it in."

"We all have something," Estok said. "When I was in university there was a serial killer on the loose."

"Never heard of it. Where'd you go to, doc?"

"You wouldn't know it. Pretty distant. Eventually I started carrying a gun around the campus. Illegal there, but a fine or prison is a lot better than getting your organs harvested."

"Amen to that. Did you ever find out who it was?"

"Just some student. He's dead now."

"Next you're going to tell me you killed him yourself."

"No comment."

"That still doesn't explain how you can climb like monkey and assert like a soldier," Caradoc said. "Don't doctors get cooped up in hospitals all the time? Like, no proper work schedule?"

"We have hobbies too."

"Oh yeah? And what's the chance that your hobby includes both mountain climbing and target practice?"

"You don't trust me."

"Yes. Surprisingly, I trust Jonas more than you. And you're not helping me with the trust thing very much."

"The past is the past. Can't we move on?"

"Not if it'll come back to bite you later." Caradoc exhaled. "Soon there'll be nowhere to run, and you'll have to face it. Why not now?"

"Because I'm not ready," the doctor whispered. "Now, I'll appreciate it if we talked about something else. Whatever happened to 'not depressing'?"

"Actually, uh…" Jonas reached out behind him, phone in hand. "I've got Scrabble on this so why don't you two waste a few hours? Then we'll switch."

"Waste of battery," Caradoc said, but took the phone anyway.

"We're not going to be using it much. Plus, I'd appreciate the two of you not killing each other on the way to France."

"Makes sense." Caradoc tapped the app icon, the application expanding to cover the screen. "So doc, you wanna go first?"

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Hendricksen," Tahal said. The Arab's face filled up most the screen in front of Garth. "How is the boat trip?"

"None of your business. Diana ordered radio silence, didn't she? The heck are you doing?"

"That's no way to talk to your superior."

"You're not my superior. We're all equal, remember?"

"Not explicitly, no. But when we look at the performances each member is assigned I think we can see a correlation."

Garth snorted. "Just get to the point."

"About that...I might be able to get you back on those two. Yes, I do know what Miss Vex has said, but aren't we all equal?"

"Damn right."

"Is Antoine with you? I've a better job for you two than guarding Doctor Fischer."

"I'm all ears."

"Good. Listen carefully."

* * *

"Heads up," Caradoc said, gently pressing his foot down on the brakes.

"What is it?" Jonas asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

The blue-and-red lights of police cars flickered across his face as he squinted along the road. "A roadblock. We're almost at the border."

"They might have out photos," Jonas said. "David! Hey!"

The doctor yawned, and stretched his arms. "Are we in Paris yet?"

"No," Caradoc said. "But the police are in our way. We've got to ditch this car." He looked out the side window, at the trees on the side of the road.

"Don't even think about it," Jonas said. "The moment you turn off the road they're going to start shooting."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"Go straight through it. I've got a passport."

"I don't have it on me," Caradoc said. "David?"

Estok shook his head. "It's at home."

"Then sneak out the back," Jonas said. "I'll get Oberon to the first hospital I see, and I'll see you...I don't know where I'll see you. All I know is they probably have your photo."

"Let me drive," Estok said.

"You'd just get arrested. And two heads are better than one," Caradoc said. "Plus, I need someone to spot for me." He tapped his glass eye.

"We'll meet at the Notre Dame," the doctor said. "Shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Fine by me. Now get out. Wait…" Jonas picked up his phone and turned it on. "Battery at seven percent; should be fine for a while. What's your number?"

Caradoc rattled off the digits, and then pulled the a small silver box out from under the computer monitor. "I'll see you on the other side?"

"Does it have to be that dramatic?"

"You ruin all the fun sometimes." He twisted into the shotgun seat as Jonas replaced him as the driver, and opened the back doors. The air outside was chilly - not as cold as the Phoenix compound in the Alps, but it made the hairs on his arms stand up.

The moon shone full and bright and yellow in the sky, and under it, the lush green plains on the border of Belgium and France.

"Ready, doc?"

"Not my first time."

Caradoc considered inquiring further, but dropped it and bent low, moving off the road and out of the cover of their van. They slowly crept across the grass, up a steep slope, and stopped on the crest of a hill. A bridge was stretched between their hill and another, making a tunnel underneath which separated the two countries.

Unceremoniously, Caradoc jogged down the hill, still keeping low, and entered France. He crept behind the bushes pressing himself against the ones to his right until he reached the road.

A house was on the other side of the road, and a police officer stood near the door, a cigarette in his hand. He let another puff into the air, and then went back to playing on his mobile phone.

"Huh, thought there'd be a lot more officers," Estok said.

"There are a lot of ways into France from Belgium. And it _is_ in the middle of the fucking night, so they're probably spread thin."

"Still, that guy is a terrible police officer."

"It's not very often we're this lucky, so be thankful for once."

"I _am_ thankful. There's a truck there."

"It's right next to him."

"There's a big rock right next to me."

Caradoc smiled. "You're full of surprises, doc. Let's see how good you are." He lifted both knees off the ground, winked at Estok and ran for the car.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Sorry," Gawain whispered, and pulled the knife from Holly's leg. She drew the edge across the rope tying her other hand to the chair, wincing as the muscles in her broken wrist screamed.

She threw the ropes to the side, and cut Holly's restraints.

Holly grabbed her with one arm and pulled her down, just as a new hole was blown in the door by Marcel's Five-seveN.

She kicked out with one leg, launching the wheelchair towards Marcel and turned the doorknob with her good hand.

They emerged into a corridor with no other doors, and a turn to the left at the end. Voices bounced off the walls, and footsteps echoed off the dirty floor.

Gawain went along the left wall, gripping the knife in her good hand, and waited.

The barrel of a TAR21 poked around the corner, next to her face.

She hooked her other arm around the barrel of the rifle pulled, causing the soldier holding it to stumble around the corner. Gawain pushed the knife into the soft flesh of his neck, before pulling the gun off him and slowly stepping back.

Holly tore off the duct tape and flexed her jaw.

The doorknob turned, and opened a crack.

Gawain pulled the trigger in short bursts, sending several bullets through the weakened wood. As she turned to aim back down the corridor, a soldier leaned out and something flew from his hand, bouncing off the right wall and landing at their feet.

Gawain threw herself forwards, past the flashbang and landed flat on her stomach on the floor as it detonated, and a blinding light filled the corridor. Her ears rang, and her vision swam, as she propped her rifle up on the floor.

As expected, the soldier rounded the corner.

She squeezed the trigger, sending him flying back into the wall.

"Holly!" She got up and ran over to the girl, who was turned against one corner of the room with her eyes closed.

"I'm fine," Holly said, and although Gawain couldn't hear her, she could read her lips.

She looked down the corridor, where more shouting was coming from. Holding the rifle with one hand, Gawain opened the door back into the interrogation room, to find Marcel leanet against the wall, bleeding from a stomach wound. "Up!" she commanded.

Groaning, he got to his feet. His gun laid a next to him.

Gawain picked up the pistol, handed the TAR21 to Holly and wrapped an arm around Marcel's neck. She walked down the corridor, keeping Marcel in front of her.

A soldier popped out to shoot.

"No!" Marcel shouted.

Gawain fired her pistol, forcing him back around the corner. "Let us go or he dies!"

"Not a chance!" came Jade's voice.

"Jade, let them go!" Marcel called. "We can catch them again later. Diana doesn't have to know!"

"Wait, Diana Vex?" Holly asked from behind them.

"None of your business! Jade, retreat. It's an order!"

She was quiet for a moment, before poking her head around the corner. "We're going outside."

"Good. Wait for me there."

"Where's the exit?" Gawain asked.

"I can lead you to it."

"If it's a trap, I'll fucking take you with me."

"It's not a trap," Holly said. "Just look at him. Can't stand to sacrifice himself for his own people. He won't risk himself getting shot." She made a _tsk-tsk_ sound. "You're a fucking disgrace."

Jade's head disappeared around the corner.

"Let's go," Gawain said, pushing Marcel forwards.

* * *

"What seems to be the problem, officer?" Jonas leaned out his rolled-down window and flashed his warmest smile.

"Have you seen this man?" The policewoman held up a blurry photograph of Caradoc. "They're suspects in an investigation."

Jonas squinted, frowned and shook his head. "Can't say I have, officer. May I ask what they've done?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that. I'm afraid I'm going to have to search your vehicle, sir."

"Feel free." He flicked a switch under the dashboard, unlocking the back doors. "Try not to wake my friend, though, he's a bit ill right now and I'm supposed to get him home by sunrise."

The woman turned on her flashlight and went around the back. Jonas looked back at her, smiling, as she inspected Oberon's sleeping form, and then the equipment inside the van.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

She nodded, biting her lip. "This is pretty far for your network."

"We get what we can," he said. "Got a tip something was going down in Paris, so my boss thought I should check it out. Was going there anyway because of my friend."

The officer nodded. "Seems clear, sir. Have a nice evening."

"As to you."

She closed the back doors and he locked them and pressed down on the accelerator. The car moved under the bridge, leaving Belgium and entering France.

Jonas turned the radio to a rock channel, and sunk back in his seat as he navigated through the winding roads of France's countryside.

The sun was rising.

* * *

Gawain pushed Marcel out the back doors of the car just as Holly stepped on the accelerator, shooting off down the road that was just outside the bunker hatch. Bullets immediately began pinging off the chassis, and she ducked from the window.

"They're going to scramble the chopper," Holly said.

"Of course they are. Speed up."

The car shot forwards when Holly put her foot right down on the pedal, shooting off down the road, which was covered in a thin layer of snow. The sun was shining, reflecting off the white sheet as they headed down a hill, and then back up again.

"Where the fuck are we?" Gawain asked.

"No idea. Some mountains. Maybe the Alps."

"I hate it here. Keep going; there might be someone down there."

"Oh shit, I see it!"

Gawain turned in her seat just in time to observe a large black object rising over the trees behind them, a soft breeze from it blowing at the treetops. "Eurocopter Tiger. You're right - we might be in the Alps."

"The road's straight!"

"Just keep going!"

There was a rhythmic _thup-thup-thup_ as the cannon mounted under the Tiger's nose spat, and the snow beside them leapt up in thin columns. The machine gun made a zig-zag pattern in the snow before stopping, then beginning anew, this time the bullets punching through the door of their car.

Gawain sunk down in the backseat, closing her eyes. Sooner or later, the stream of bullets was going to reach them, and tear straight through her and Holly, and there was not a single thing they could do about it. She just hoped it was quick.

Rather than tearing flesh, all Gawain heard was the loud whoosh of a rocket, a distant _boom_ and then the machine gun firing again, albeit further away.

"Valerie, look!"

Gawain opened her eyes and warily poked her head from the seat, to see the Tiger now firing into the trees on the left side of the road, a smoke trail from a rocket that had barely missed it still hanging in the air. "Holly, into the forest!"

Without another word, her protege twisted the wheel to the left, and their car leapt a little off the side of the dirt road, into the deep snow that was the forest floor. The heat from the engine made the snow melt, but the wheels had no traction.

Gawain picked out the door to her side and climbed out, hugging herself in the chill of the snow. "I'm starting to miss that bunker."

"Who do you think they are? Dirk?"

She shook her head. "Doubt it. He'd never find us here, wherever we are. I still say we meet up with them."

"And if they kill us?"

"At least Marcel won't get the credit. Jeez, this is cold." She reached to wrap her coat around herself, only to find that it was no longer there, Marcel's men haven't removed it.

Holly sneezed. "Oh, shit."

"We'll get Doctor Estok to look at you. Now come along." She started into the snow, taking large steps and truding through the thick, slushy pile that had formed on the forest floor.

The gunfire got louder as they headed towards the source of the rocket, and figures in white military camo flitted between the trees, pausing occasionally to fire at the sky but not long enough to become an easy target. Periodically, the Tiger's machine gun ripped through the trees, failing to hit any of the figures.

Holly cupped her hands around her mouth. "Hey!" she shouted.

One of the figures turned, his or her face obscured by a black snow mask, and raised a palm before firing a burst at the Tiger. He urgently trudged towards them, rifle raised. "Stay away!" a male voice commanded.

"Who are you?" Gawain asked, squinting through the snow mask.

"Doesn't matter. You're who they were chasing?"

They both nodded.

"Good. Come with me; once a sniper gets here that blasted thing will be off our backs."

"You speak English," Gawain said. "Where are we?"

"The Alps. You're Valerie Izaks and Holly Beckett?"

As if she was a blur, Holly pulled the rifle from the man, turned it around and pointed it at him. "How do you know that?"

"I-"

A burst of cannon fire from the helicopter tore into the snow around them. The man dived behind a tree, while Gawain and Holly moved through the snow away from the shots.

He poked his head out from behind the trunk. "Our base is on that plateau; we have to get there. Are you with me?" He pointed between the branches to a heavily obscured flat mountain slope.

Gawain looked at holly, and then back at the man. "Fine. We'll go. Betray us and Holly shoots you, understand?"

He nodded. "Come!" He began pawing the snow in front of him to the side, creating a path that was slightly easier to wade through. Gawain and Holly went along it, with holly covering their back.

For about half and hour, Gawain saw nothing interesting apart from the helicopter and heard nothing new. The melted snow caused by her body heat was seeping into her trousers and her shirt, numbing parts of her legs. Still, she advanced, determined to get to the base and get help.

As they were ascending a small hill, the barrel of a sniper rifle poked over the edge and down at them. "Michael, who are these people?"

"The ones I'm looking for. Give me the rifle." The man that had rescued them beckoned with one hand.

The woman behind the gun paused, staring down the scope at the three of them, before unslinging it and handing it to Michael.

He raised it at the helicopter, aimed for a long moment, and took a deep breath. The licked his lips and pulled the trigger.

A loud _bang_ rang across the treetops, and the tip of the sniper rifle's barrel flashed once and the bullet whistled through the air.

Straight through a cockpit window.

The helicopter wobbled slightly in midair, and plunged towards the ground, its impact with the trees shearing it apart and tossing its pieces through the forest.

Michael lowered the rifle and passed it back to the woman. "We should go before more of them turn up."

"Who the fuck are you?" Gawain asked.

"Me? I'm an outside contractor. Jonas emailed me last night about finding an attack helicopter so I decided to look for one. And I found it." He glanced towards the smoke cloud rising from where the helicopter's fuel was burning.

Neither Holly nor Gawain said anything for the duration of their hike up the mountain, and onto a plateau, where a compounded surrounded by a chain-link fence sat waiting for them, surrounded by more trees.

Gawain recognised it almost immediately. "You're with Phoenix."

Michael raised his right hand and made a thumbs-up sign without even a glance at her. "Like I said, I'm an outside contractor."

Holly raised her gun at him, only to have the woman point her sniper rifle at her.

"It's pointless," Michael said. He turned around, and took off his mask, revealing his brown eyes and short mustache and brown hair that was streaked with grey. "You're completely surrounded."

On cue, more soldiers - some in snow camo and some in standard black Phoenix camo - marched out of the compound, forming a semicircle in front of Michael, all their weapons pointed at Gawain and Holly.

"Before I shoot you," Michael said. "Tell me: why did your people attack my compound?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The Notre Dame Cathedral was a busy as ever, streams of tourists flooding in and out and the sound of conversation carrying up to its domed ceilings and rebounding as little more than whispers.

Caradoc sat on a chair, fiddling with his watch. He slowly turned the dial on its side, watching the numbers go up one by one. A straight line stretched across the other half of the watch face, occasionally jumping when it detected a signal.

Estok sat down on the chair next to him, a plastic bag in hand. "After walking for two hours I found a Subway."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten anything since that Mac and Cheese in the motel." He unwrapped a footlong sandwich and took a large bite out of it, chewing silently among the chatter of the tourists around them.

"I'm not hungry," he repeated. He turned the dial one more step, and the line was displaced into a wave pattern. He pressed a button on his glasses. "Hello?"

A burst of static, and then, "Identify yourself."

"This is Caradoc. I'm here with a David Estok to see Charlemagne."

Another bout of static. "Find a priest," the operator said.

Caradoc switched off his glasses, and stood up, turning off the interface in his watch. "We have to get a priest."

"Can I finish this sandwich first?"

"Not the time, doctor."

Estok nodded, re-wrapped his meal and slung the plastic bag over his shoulder, following Caradoc deeper into the cathedral. They reached a small alcove, where a priest was standing, looking down at his feet and whispering to himself.

"Father," Caradoc said.

The priest lifted his head to look at him, blue eyes shining from behind a weathered and wrinkled face. He said something in French.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French."

"What is your business here?" the priest asked, narrowing his eyes.

"We're looking for Charlemagne."

His eyes widened, and a smile formed on his lips. "Very well. Follow me." He turned in the direction of a side passage, and shuffled along silently.

Caradoc took small steps in his wake, eyes darting around the room. There were a few other priests who looked at them curiously as they were led deeper into the cathedral, and towards a confessional.

The priest raised an aged hand at the curtains.

Caradoc pushed them apart and ducked inside, taking his seat. He glanced through the lattice, past the empty seat in the middle and at Estok, who was sat across from him.

His spectacles beeped - an incoming transmission. Caradoc pressed the answer button, and a flashing bar appeared in the corner of his vision to indicate the strength of the signal, just beside the word "Confidence".

A hologram of a dark-skinned female in a suit flickered into existence in the middle seat. "We got your email."

"Who are you? Where's Charlemagne?" Caradoc asked.

"He's busy. I'm Roland, second in command here. We haven't met, have we?"

"No, we haven't."

"Is the doctor trustworthy?"

Caradoc stopped himself before he could answer. He looked through Roland, towards him, who was tracing a finger along the lattice grating.

"Caradoc?"

"Yes, I trust him. He saved Oberon's life."

"Good. Put your hand on the lattice." Roland's hologram blinked and disappeared.

Caradoc reached out, and pressed his palm flat against the wooden screen. A soft red light emanated from the grille itself, scanning his palm, and then he heard the soft hum of an electric engine.

His seat moved downwards, just as metal panels slid between him and the curtains of his chamber. The elevator rumbled down, and then sped up a little, bringing them to same level as the catacombs. There was another set of curtains where the lift stopped, of the exact same colour and material. A wooden panel slid over his head, blotting out the most of the light - a thin streak shone through the drapes.

Caradoc separated them and walked out into a large room with grey wall, with light fixtures at regular intervals, and several doors leading out. Men and women in work uniform rushed from one door to another, holding clipboards and reports and cups of coffee.

Estok stepped out of the other booth, whistling at the sight of the Paris Kingsman HQ. "I believe you now."

"And you didn't before?"

"I wasn't sure. Where to next?"

"To me," Roland said, appearing from the sea of employees. "Welcome to Paris, agent Beumers." She held out a hand.

He shook it firmly. "It's...very different. Kind of like UK HQ. Love the lighting, though."

"I understand your branch is heavily understaffed?"

"After V-day, yes. We lost a lot of good men. Including Maleagant."

"I saw the report," Roland said. "Didn't you say there were four of you?"

"There was a roadblock near the border. Jonas volunteered to drive Oberon to hospital, so here we are."

Roland nodded. "I'll contact him as soon as possible. Tea or coffee?"

"Tea," Caradoc said. "I never liked coffee."

"And you, Doctor Estok?"

"I'm quite fine. Really." The doctor held his hands in front of him. "Plus, I've a sandwich to finish."

"Very well." Roland grabbed the shoulder of a male aide who was passing by, and whispered into his ear. He nodded and turned down a corridor. "Now, shall we go somewhere more suitable for discussion?"

"Lead the way," Caradoc said.

Roland took them through one of the left doors, down a long corridor with glass windows. Caradoc glanced down them, and was met with the sight of a massive train station below them, filled with Kingsman staff and a few agents.

"That goes all the way to Geneva," Roland said. "And even Berlin. This year we're extending it to Amsterdam, but I think it'll take next year to be fully functional."

"Makes our castle look like a sham."

"Arthur is aware of your lack of funding, agent Beumers. He's said that as soon as Berlin is operational again he'll reinforce you."

"That can't be soon enough."

Roland opened a door. "Come. We've much to discuss."

Caradoc and Estok entered a bleak grey conference room with a large circular glass table that had the Kingsman logo engraved in the middle. He sat down in the closest chair, Estok next to him and Roland herself a few seats away.

"What couldn't you tell me in the email? We have secure channels, you know."

"Can't risk them," Caradoc said. "You heard what happened to Stockholm?"

"We all did. A tragedy."

"Well, whoever caused that have our database. Or at least part of it, which is why this place is still standing."

"How would they have it? We stopped every leak on V-day."

He shook his head. "I don't know. But right now I really need your help with something."

"Just ask."

"My partner Gawain is...somewhere. She's been kidnapped by the men who attacked a motel on the Dutch border the night before."

"We'll run a search. I can't promise you we'll find her."

"There's a trainee with her. The replacement for Maleagant. Knowing them, they'll stick together."

"Noted. Who exactly is Jonas?"

"He's the Chief of Security of Phoenix. The company we hit a few months ago. He shot Gawain and almost shot me too."

"And you trust him?"

"The president of Phoenix is dead. Jonas want...redemption for that. He's got some information on the men behind the attack on Stockholm."

"Is he with Sagramore?"

"That's the thing. Sagramore is dead. They attacked our HQ and killed him."

Roland developed a frown almost immediately. "That's...that's not possible. Even with your current staff you're more than a match for them."

"They knew when Val- when Gawain and I would leave. And they had a bit of help from one of our ex-agents."

"Merlin detonated the chip. There aren't any Kingsman defectors any more."

"Well, you're wrong." He pulled the shiny silver hard drive out from his coat and set it on the table. "He's from this very branch as well."

"Palamedes," Roland whispered.

"Not anymore. Not he's just Antoine Dufour. But it looks like he's been training."

Roland stood up. "I need to contact Arthur. Is there anything else?"

"One more thing. Antoine wasn't the only one who survived the signal. We've two more names. Garth Hendricksen - yes, the US senator - and I think a Diana Vex is involved."

"Your help is appreciated, agent Beumers. Cafeteria's just down the stairs at the end of the corridor." She vanished through the doorframe.

The silence of the next ten minutes of deafening.

"So what now?" Estok asked.

"Now we wait. We can't do anything for the time being, and even if we could, Roland's people are probably better at it."

Estok stood up. "I'm going to eat my sandwich."

"I'm hungry."

"I don't know about you, but I smelled some meat grilling when we were in the corridor. You coming?"

Caradoc looked up at the lights for a moment, and then at Estok. "Hell yeah. They better have steak."

* * *

"Below? Are you sure?" Marcel asked, holding the phone against his ear.

"Certain," his agent said. "Sonar doesn't lie."

"Do you have enough explosives?"

"We'll need a lot more if we're going to blow into a concrete bunker. There's got to be another way."

"You think it's inside the building?"

"I saw the guy go in. He hasn't come out yet."

Marcel pursed his lips. He looked across to the armed men opposite him, and then at the ones sitting beside him. "How many do you estimate?"

"A place that big needs at least fifty."

"Do you know if they're all like Izaks?"

"Doubt it. We'd be dead by now if they were. I say only a few like that."

"How sure are you?"

"Very."

"Good." He hung up, and knocked on the screen separating them from the driver. "We attack out front," he said when the screen was slid open. "Minimal civilian casualties. Once we're in, leave no survivors, understood?"

"Understood!" the mercenaries chorused.

* * *

"Not too bad," Caradoc said, cutting another piece of the large beef sirloin the man in the cafeteria had retrieved from the kitchen for him. "Bit chewy, but then again good beef is really expensive."

Estok dusted the crumbs off his hand, and onto the piece of paper on the table in front of him. "I prefer lamb, really."

"It smells."

"Not if you've a good sauce. Braised lamb is particularly good."

"Never could get into that. Where'd you grow up, doc?"

"England."

"Well, which part of England?"

"Manchester. Ellen and I moved to Scotland after a while, though. Much nicer there." He folded up the wrapping paper and scrunched it into a ball.

"Ellen? Your wife?"

"Yes, my wife. I think I've said we met in hi-"

The world around them was plunged into darkness, and then the black was replaced by red. An alarm went on loop, stirring up the people in the cafeteria. They moved out in a file, as if it were normal.

"What's going on?" Estok asked.

Caradoc pressed the button on his glasses to select Roland's signal, and connected to her. "What's happening?"

"Bad news." A camera feed from the front of the Notre Dame came up in his vision. Civilians were on the ground, and armed men walked to and fro between them, rifles pointed down. A black APC was parked on the street.

A man with grey hair who wore a uniform like the rest of the men, but with an additional pauldron, walked towards the door. Three steps short of the entrance, he stopped in his tracks and drew his pistol.

Caradoc identified it as an FN Five-seveN just as he raised it, and the camera went black.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"I'm just kidding," Michael said.

There was a chorus of clicks as each soldier lowered their weapons.

"Still, tell me why you attacked us out of the blue."

"Let's go inside first," Gawain said, her eyes roaming over the soldiers in white. "It's fucking cold out here."

"I second that," Holly said.

Michael rolled his eyes and waved at the men stationed in the guardhouse, who pressed a button. It slowly ground open, the chain link rattling.

Gawain quickly made her way in, across the grounds and towards what she assumed was the barracks. Not that she cared - as long as it had a heating system, she was fine. Gawain look a deep breath as she opened the door, and warm air flooded out.

Holly pushed past her inside, and sat down at a vacant table which had four chairs around it. She sneezed again.

Gawain took the seat next to her. "Did you pick up any gear?"

"I forgot."

"That's okay. So, uh, we need to get off this mountain. You think Michael's going to help us?"

"I don't trust him," Holly said, sniffing. "He's not even actually working for Phoenix. Just some guy they hired to set up this place."

"Yeah, but Jonas called him."

"That doesn't mean we can trust him." Holly buried her face in her hands. "I don't know," she mumbled. "I don't know what to think any more."

Michael opened the door into the barracks and sat down opposite Gawain. "Jonas says I can trust you."

"But can I trust you?" Gawain asked.

"Not really. You shouldn't trust anyone. Ever. It's too dangerous."

"So you don't trust us?"

"Not completely, no." Michael drummed his fingers on the table top. "Now can you tell me why you parachuted in here guns blazing?"

"You kidnapped Dr. Fischer and put him here. And he was making bombs, which is enough reason for us to crash your party."

"He was there of his own accord. We were simply hired to protect him."

"And you did such a great job," Holly said.

"Your attack wasn't anticipated. Tell me: where is Doctor Fischer now?"

Gawain clasped her hands on the table. "He's been taken by the same people who killed your company president."

"And who might that be?"

"Someone working on behalf of...some very powerful people, it seems. What does it matter to you? You're getting paid whether they go down or not."

"Yes, but I'm getting bonus if they do. Jonas promised me a pretty large paycheck." He smiled a brilliant white-toothed smile.

"So you're offering us your help?"

"Not just my help. Phoenix is at your disposal if you want it to be."

Gawain paused and pursed her lips. Phoenix, on their side. Thousands of security personnel at her fingertips. She could do _so much_.

"Well?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. "You should decide now, before Jonas nags me about it."

"We don't know what we're dealing with yet." Gawain stared at her own distorted reflection in the table. "Even if we have all of Phoenix, we don't know where to hit them. We don't know who they are."

Michael nodded, looking a little disappointed. "If you don't want control of Phoenix, what can I get for you instead?"

"How about a lift to Paris?" Holly asked. "I saw a transport helicopter outside."

"If they have a helicopter, they probably have anti-air weapons. And they'll be waiting for us when we leave. No, it's too risky."

"I've to get to the Notre Dame ASAP," Gawain said.

"Then why don't we attack their base? You know where it is."

"That's…" Gawain nodded. "That's actually a good idea. How many men do you have here?"

"Fifty. How many were down there?"

"I didn't get to count. But there's probably a hundred, including the leader. A guy named Marcel."

"Nothing I haven't done before," Michael said, lifting his legs onto the table and leaning back, yawning. "You know what? Let's go right now. It'll be the last thing the expect."

"Or they might be expecting you to think that."

"They're one attack helicopter down. What could po-"

"Don't you fucking say it."

Michael smiled. "Can't have a bit of hope in a while? What're you, some kind of pessimist? I can't tempt fate?"

"It's usually bad omen when you say something like that."

"And since when did you become superstitious? Does that place look like it can store more than one Eurocopter?"

"I've seen underground hangars."

"Just leave it, Valerie. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

Jonas pushed the doctor away, and raised his cellphone to his ear. He listen to the dial tone as he walked out the hospital door, and as it clicked and Michael's voice came on. "I got your email."

"Miss Beckett has a cold."

"Oh, I'm sure that's the least of your worries right now. Did you offer them Phoenix like I said?"

"I did. Miss Izaks didn't want it."

"So what's our next move?"

"She said they were in a bunker, so we're going to blow that place to Valhalla. After we sack it, of course."

Jonas nodded to himself. "Tell me how that goes. Got anything else for me?"

"The only other thing I have is that these guys aren't Harker's. We still don't know where those are."

"Who are they, then?"

"Dunno. They can pilot an attack helicopter, so I'm guessing paramilitary or ex-military. Miss Izaks mentioned a name: Marcel."

"Never heard of it."

"Good day to you then."

"As to you, Lieutenant Bishop." Jonas hung up with the touch of a button and slipped the phone into his coat pocket, before strolling down the sidewalk towards the cafe he had seen coming in.

He sat at the table in the very corner, closest to the street, and a waiter came scurrying over with a tiny clipboard in hand. Jonas ordered a club sandwich and a can of soda and went back to his phone. He'd charged it when he got to the hospital, bringing the battery up to just over twenty percent.

Jonas was flicking through the several pictures of Karlien he had on his phone when the waiter returned with a white plate which his sandwich rested upon, and a glass of cole, both of which were set on the table in front of him.

Ravenously, he reduced the sandwich to little more than crumbs in under a minute.

There was half a glass of soda left when police sirens wailed, and a SWAT van tumbled past him along the road.

Jonas gulped the rest of his drink down, and raced across the street, back into the hospital. He crashed through the fire escape door, taking the stairs down to the garage. He unlocked the van from across the garage and sprinted to it, opening the door and swinging himself in.

With the turn of his key, the engine jumped to life and he pulled out of the parking space and launched the car up the entrance ramp.

Another SWAT van rolled by, its sirens flashing and blaring. Jonas moved into the same lane and slowed down, effectively tailing it.

Several turns and a bridge later, the shadow of the Notre Dame loomed over him. Ambulances, police cars and even an APC were park out front, a semicircle of officers with their guns pointed at the entrance.

Jonas parked his van on the side of the road - it looked perfectly camouflaged among the news vans of the other networks. He opened the door and walked across to the police line and squinted through the doors of the cathedral.

"Sir, please step back," an officer said.

"What's happening?"

"There are armed men inside the cathedral. Taken some priests hostage. Please step back and wait until we've resolved this."

"My friends are in there!"

"Sir, there's nothing we can do. Just stand back and let us deal with thi-"

Jonas thrust the heel of his hand into the officer's face, feeling the cartilage in his nose snap under his skin. He reached out, and pulled the officer's gun out of his hostler just as he stumbled back, and leapt over the police line.

There were shouts, but no shot, in his direction as he sprinted inside, pistol held in front of him.

A staccato burst of gunfire blew chunks of stone off the column next to him, and he pressed himself against it, panting.

"I see you!" a voice shouted.

Jonas peeked out from behind the column with one eye, spotting three soldiers in unmarked black uniforms, one with no helmet on and a pauldron on one shoulder. The man with the pauldron raised a pistol and fired at him, the bullets biting into the stone, and Jonas jerked back.

"Seriously? Jonas?" the man shouted. "Come here to rescue your friends, little boy?"

Jonas said nothing. He leaned out the right si-

A bullet ricocheted off the floor beside where he was hiding, and he changed his mind. "Who are you?" he called out instead.

"I'm Garth's replacement. Just get out from behind that pillar and I promise I won't shoot you."

"Not a fucking chance!"

"You don't have to die here, Jonas. A man like you is valuable. More so than that coward Harker."

"You killed Klaas!"

"No, no, Antoine killed Klaas, not me. I don't have such an itchy trigger finger."

"He's still your people. What do you want?"

"To be your friend. And on that note, I'm Marcel. You?"

"You know who I am."

"Don't be such a spoilsport. We're not going to shoot you if you come out. Really. Look, you two, drop your guns."

The _clack_ of metal on the stone floor. Jonas leaned out slightly, and spied the two other geared men standing back, their hands raised an empty. Their TAR21s laid on the floor, beside the leader, who was no longer holding a pistol..

"Your turn, Jonas."

Jonas placed his gun on the floor beside him, and pushed. It slid out from behind the column, between chair legs and came to rest in the aisle. He stood up, raised his hands and walked out.

"Very good," Marcel said. "Come with us, Jonas. We can g-"

"Where's Karlien?"

"We'll get to that. For now…" Marcel held up a small radio-like device with a short antenna. "...you're going to help me."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Shoot him," Marcel ordered. The two soldiers pulled out their sidearms in one movement. Marcel's thumb came down on the side of the radio facing him.

The deafening explosion and the resulting rush of wind knocked the air out of Jonas. He used the momentum to fall to the floor and slid under the chairs. an acrid smoke drifted from the back of the cathedral, making his eyes water.

His gun was just a few metres away, in the aisle. jonas grit his teeth, planted both hands on the floor and pushed himself forwards.

* * *

"Empty," Michael said, poking his head out of the doorway. "They must have left right after you."

Gawain sighed and lowered the pistol he had given her. "I guess the computers are wiped too?"

"Yeah. We've got nothing but piles of broken hard drives. and they burnt all the papers."

"What about the hangar?"

"The entrance is some distance down there." Michael indicated the slope opposite the one Gawain and Holly had escaped off from. "We checked inside and there were two more Tigers."

"Operational?"

"Fully. Might get some prints off it. The AA's in there as well, but there's nobody manning it now."

"So we can go to Paris?"

"Yes. Do me a favour and call Summit."

Gawain raised her long-range radio and tuned it to the base's frequency. "Bring the chopper; we're clear, over."

The man on the other end gave an affirmative.

"What's in Paris?" Michael asked.

"Allies."

Michael held up his smartphone, facing the screen towards her. On it, taken from a news helicopter, the grainy footage of the Notre Dame de Paris.

The _burning_ Notre Dame de Paris.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Caradoc dumped the steel table on its side, and wiped the stream of sweat coming from his hairline. He pressed a button on his glasses. "What now?"

"They've taken the priests hostage," Roland said over the intercom. "A few explosive devices stuck to the floor, but we should be fine."

"They can't get in, can they?"

"No, they can't. Concrete's too thick, and we've sealed off the lifts. Even if they get in, they're going ot have to deal with all of us."

"No fortress is impenetrable." He glanced across the corridor, where some of the staff were crouched behind a similar table, clutching their pistols in their shaking hands. "Garth's people have gotten braver."

"They caught us off-guard in Stockholm and Amsterdam. Not here. Now we know they're coming."

"Is Antoine here?"

"I don't see him. Either he's in reserve, or…"

"...or he's already inside," Caradoc finished. "You're looking at the cameras inside as well, right?"

"Yes, I am. He's not in here. He wouldn't know the blind spots. I'm going to activate the turrets now."

"Go on."

He heard a _whirr_ and a _click_ and the ceiling in the middle of the corridor flipped open, a small light machine gun mounted on a robotic arm folding out. A belt of armour-piercing bullets emerged from its side, extending up into the ceiling.

"Now _that_ is what I'm talking about," Caradoc said. "What if all this fails? What if they've a tank or something?"

"You gotta be insane if you're going to bring a tank into Paris."

"Yeah, but what if they do?"

"Then we use the railway to get to Berlin, regroup with Agravain. Then we order an airstrike."

"And the priests?"

"There's nothing we can do for them now. They're trained not to reveal anything, just like us, so we'll be fine."

"You don't know that yet."

Roland didn't reply.

Caradoc frowned. "Hey, you there? Roland?"

"Sorry," she said. "I just got an incoming transmission. He says he's the leader of the guys upstairs."

"Patch him through."

A series of beeps later, Caradoc heard a man's chuckle, among the static of his radio from above. "Is everyone hearing this?"

"Yes," Caradoc said. "What do you want?"

"To kill you. No, really, it's that simple. I'm sure you can see your friends around here. I'm not going to kill them either, though, or the police will storm this place."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Marcel."

"One 'l' or two?"

"Does it matter?"

"You want the Grim Reaper to spell your name incorrectly?"

"I _will_ get in there. And if you're lucky, you might just walk away with a disability and not bullet in your head."

"To be honest, I prefer the second choice. You wanna come down here, you come down here. We're waiting." He cut the link and re-connected to Roland. "How'd I do?"

"Could be better, if you- wait, I found your friend."

"Which one?"

"Jonas. Sending you the feed…"

In the lenses of his glasses, a small box appeared with high-definition footage of the inside of the Cathedral. Jonas had just entered, and was running down one side of the seats. One of Marcel's men saw him, and turned to fire a burst. Jonas ducked behind one of the stone columns.

"He's going to get himself killed," Caradoc said. "Unseal the lifts."

"No! He should have stayed outside."

"I'm not leaving Jonas out there."

"But you're leaving the priests?"

Caradoc paused as he was about to vault over the table. "No, I'm not. I'm getting all of them out."

"You can't save everyone."

"At least Jonas. Unseal the elevators." Caradoc put one hand on the edge of the table and swung himself over it, sprinting towards the confessional replica and cutting the video feed.

He brushed the curtains aside just in time to see the steel plate retract into the floor, revealing the seat.

"There's a guy standing right in front of your booth," Roland said. "Nobody else is watching him."

"Perfect." Caradoc sat down and put his hand on the grille to his right.

Slowly, the chair ascended, until he became level with the curtains on the first floor.

Caradoc stood up gradually as not to make any noise, and parted the curtains a little. He was met with the back of the soldier's assault helmet, painted black like the rest of his uniform. He thrust both hands out, grabbing the soldier's head, and twisted it sharply, feeling a tiny tremor through his skull as his spine snapped.

The soldier crumpled to the floor, lifeless and his head turned in an odd direction. Caradoc picked up his TAR21, and leaned against the closest column, poking half his face out to check.

Marcel and two other soldiers had their weapons - two rifles and a pistol - pointed at the column he had seen Jonas slide behind.

Caradoc raised his gun at Marcel, dot in the holographic sight frozen solid over the back of his neck. All it would take was a little pressure, and Marcel would be dead on the ground.

And then they would shoot the hostages. He couldn't fire yet. He swept his gaze across the floor of the cathedral, and spied several small, silver cubes arranged in a circle. The explosives.

"We're not going to shoot you if you come out," Marcel was saying. "Really, you two, drop your weapons." He gestured to the two soldiers with him.

They tossed their assault rifles onto the floor, and took a few steps back, raising their hands.

"Your turn, Jonas." Marcel put his pistol down on one of the arranged seats.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, a gun slid out from behind the column, under the seats and into the centre of the aisle.

Jonas himself stepped out from behind the column, a frown permanently encompassing his face. His hands were raised.

"Very good," Marcel said. "Come with us, Jonas. We can g-"

"Where's Karlien?" Jonas cut in. For the briefest moment, he saw Jonas' eyes flick towards the gun in the aisle, and then back at Marcel.

"We'll get to that. For now," Marcel said, unclipping a radio from his belt. "You're going to help me."

"Not a fucking chance."

"Shoot him." Marcel pressed a button on his radio just as his lieutenants drew their sidearms and fired at Jonas.

Too late, he recognised the cubes. Caradoc turned and threw himself back into the confessional, and mashed his palm into the lattice, causing the elevator to descend. A ringing filled his ears as a bright flash leaked in through the curtains.

Caradoc jumped out of the seat into a smoke-filled corridor, and as the ringing faded it was replaced by the sound of gunfire. The automated turret was in pieces all over the ocrridor, the explosives having blown straight through it.

The smoke was too thick to see anything from where he was standing. Caradoc activated the infrared in his glasses with a tap to one of its legs, and saw several bodies lying on the ground in the smoke, unmoving.

A soldier wearing a set of high-tech goggles over his head was stepping over the bodies, away from him.

Caradoc dropped him with a single shot from his rifle, into the back of his spine. He slowly made his way through the smoke, the range of his infrared glasses getting shorter as he entered the cloud. Just as he cleared it, there was the sound of boots on concrete.

Caradoc kicked back and spun around, falling backwards and firing his rifle. He stitched holes across the chest of the soldier who had just leapt down, and landed hard on his back.

He'd only stood up when the second explosion rocked his world and created a new hole somewhere within their base.

"Kay's down!" Roland said. "Pellinore is surrounded, too. Your side is clear, Caradoc. Get to the train."

"We can hold them off; where's Pellinore?"

"She's through the cafeteria."

Caradoc broke into a sprint, pumping his arms, straight into the cafeteria. It was empty save for a few wounded, and Estok, who was bent over a worker and pulling out slugs. He kicked the door on the other side open, to a corridor being held by two armed workers and a suited man Roland had fleetingly introduced as Urien.

"Where is she?" he asked.

Urien pointed his gun down the left of the intersection. "Locked herself in an office. I have to hold this chokepoint."

Caradoc nodded, and turned down the corridor, rifle raised. He rounded a corner, to a small group of soldiers gathered around an office door. The lead man was holding one of the explosive cubes, sticking them to the door.

He sprayed the rest of his clip and flipped back into cover, where he tossed the TAR21 and drew his pistol and one of the brand-new cigarette lighters Roland had handed him. Caradoc was raised his arm and was about to bounce it off the opposite wall when he heard a series of distinctive gunshots. Curious, he poked his head out.

Jonas was standing over the bodies of fallen soldiers, a black Glock 26 in his hand. He lowered it when he saw Caradoc. "Nice to meet you here."

"Save it. Get their captain?"

"Marcel? He's still up there."

"I'm going to kill him." He pointed to the office door the soldiers were trying to blow through. "There's an agent in there who needs medical attention. Get her down the corridor and to the cafeteria, okay?"

"Yeah, I've had enough shooting for today."

"Good." Caradoc plucked the silver cube off the door, and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'll see you when I get back."

Jonas nodded before running off.

* * *

Marcel's fingers drummed impatiently on the seat of the chair beside where he had put his laptop, grunting as the cameras attached to the helmets of his soldiers each toppled over and went still. He looked up at the last mercenary standing, whose shotgun was alternating over each of the three holes. "One of them is coming up."

The man nodded, and turned to the central hole.

His head jerked back as a silenced pistol drove a bullet straight through the centre of his forehead, and he collapsed in a heap.

Marcel drew his pistol and emptied the entire clip into the hole. He didn't know, nor care, whether he hit anything.

An black, octagonal shape opened up, and moved up and out of the hole.

Marcel ejected the magazine of his pistol, slapped in a fresh one from his belt and pelted the shape with it.

His bullets simply bounced off the umbrella canopy.

When he ran dry again, Marcel threw his gun away and spread out his arms. "Shoot me then."

"No, you're coming with me," said the man behind the umbrella.

"In that case…" Marcel turned and sprinted for the doors. If he could just get outside, get in front of the cops, then maybe they would shoot him.

Something wrapped itself around his legs, and he fell over, hitting the floor with his palms out. A current ran through this lower body, sapping any strength he had left. The world around Marcel dimmed, and he clawed at the floor.

The umbrella was folded close, its user standing over him. "We could have settled this in a friendlier way," the agent said.

Frowning, Marcel raised his middle finger.

The agent shook his head, and raised his left arm. He fiddled with the watch for a second, and something flew out of it, disappearing below Marcel's vision. Something pricked the skin on his neck, and the world got even darker.

"Now be a good boy and go to sleep."

Marcel put a hand on the floor and pushed, but at that moment his body felt like it was made of solid rock. His hand slipped, and everything went black.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"That can't be good," Michael said. He was seated in the copilot's chair, looking down at the smoking Notre Dame below, and the police force gathered all around it. "Bring us down," he ordered the pilot.

Gawain pulled the door open even before the skids touched touched the rooftop, and jumped out. She flew down the fire escape stairs on the side of the building, jumping off from the first floor and landing with both her feet on the sidewalk.

At the police line, she flashed her Phoenix ID card Michael had printed out for her. "The Security Chief of my company is in there."

"We can't let you pass, miss," an older man said, pushing through the crowd. He had a full grey beard and combed back hair, and he wore a brown trench coat over his white shirt and silver tie. "We're not done going over the place."

"And who might you be?"

He held out a hand. "DI Lennox."

Gawain just stared at him.

"Inspector, I'm afraid you're going to have to step aside," Michael said. He handed Lennox his mobile phone, where a caller ID was being displayed on the screen.

Lennox took one glance at the number, and held it to his ear. "Yes?" As he listened, the expression on his face changed to a thoughtful look. "Y-y-yes sir," he stammered, before looking once more at the caller ID, hanging up and handing the phone back to Michael.

"Well?"

"In you go. Just don't touch anything." Lennox shook his head and stalked over to one of the officers.

Michael pocketed the phone. "There you go."

"Who did you call?" Gawain asked.

"His boss. Good friend of mine."

"You know the Chief Inspector of Paris?"

"I know a lot of people." Michael put his hands in his pockets. "Now are we going to stand around or are we going to find your friends?"

"You said you were an outside contractor. You can ex-cop now?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what are you saying?"

"That we should go inside."

Gawain looked through the open doors, to the large white screen that had been set up halfway down the aisle, dividing the entire building. Dark shapes moved behind it, of the forensics scientist and officers striding around. She ducked under a flap, and into the floodlight-lit scene.

Bodies of men in black paramilitary gears were strewn across the floor, around three holes that had been jaggedly carved out of the floor of the cathedral. The forensics officers were standing around the holes, but none of them descended.

Caradoc stood with a man wearing blue gloves, talking to him quietly.

"Dirk," Gawain said.

He looked up and beamed. "Hey, Val. We were just just cleaning up."

"What happened?"

Caradoc waved the forensics scientist away. "We should go outside."

Gawain ducked under the flap again, into the other, empty part of the cathedral. She positioned herself next to one of the pillars.

Caradoc leaned on the pillar beside her. "You look tired."

She let out a breath she had been holding, and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. Caradoc's torso muscles stiffened at that, and they froze there for a long moment, before she slowly relaxed and crossed her arms.

"Of course I do," she said. "I got a concussion when the motel exploded, got dragged back to the Alps, tortured by some guy, shot my way out and got rescued by Phoenix. And I didn't sleep on the way here."

"You were in the Alps?"

"That's where they had their base. A bunker like the down down there." She pointed at the screen with her chin. "Holly got a cold as well."

"And how's you get here? Plane?"

"Helicopter, actually. Jonas sent Michael an email telling him to look for that chopper that attacked us. He found it and shot it down."

"So Phoenix has anti-air weapons now."

"No, he used a sniper rifle."

Caradoc raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me this 'Michael' shot down an attack helicopter with a sniper rifle?"

"Blew the pilot's head off. The rest is self-explanatory."

"Is he here? I've got to see what he looks like." Caradoc looked around inside the cathedral.

"He's outside talking to the inspector. Lennox, right?"

"I haven't met that guy either. Maybe later. For now, we should get down into HQ." Caradoc parted the flap and disappeared inside.

Gawain followed him inside, where he was lowering himself down into one of the holes. She sat down on the edge and gradually brought her feet to touch the concrete floor of the corridor below.

Caradoc started along the dusty corridor, trailing one hand along a wall and creating a line of cleanness on the wallpaper. "Charlemagne's not here yet."

"Where's he then?"

"CERN. Oberon messaged him about the antimatter bomb, so he went to check. He goes there every week or so."

"So who's in charge?" Gawain rounded the corner, to the three-way junction that contained the cafeteria door.

"Roland. Nice lady, a bit violent. Reminds me of Holly, really. She's in the helicopter, right?"

"One of Michael's guys is looking after her. The guy who caught us - Marcel - ripped all the fingernails off her right hand. She won't be shooting any time soon."

"Did you just say 'Marcel'?"

"Yeah, I did. He ran that base in the Alps, with a hundred soldiers or so. With a bitch named Jade."

"Would you believe me if I told you we have Marcel?"

Gawain stopped at the cafeteria door, her hand frozen halfway to the handle. "Marcel was the one who attacked you here?"

"With a small squad. The rest of them is probably with that bitch you mentioned. Which means…" Caradoc pushed the cafeteria door opened and entered.

Gawain followed him into the oblong room with its high ceiling and cluttered tables, and sat down at the closest one. "This isn't over. Far from it. She's got something lined up, I know it."

"Exactly what I'm thinking," Caradoc said, sitting down opposite her. "We'll talk to Marcel in a few minutes."

"Why not now?"

"Pellinore is beating the shit out of him."

"Oh?" Gawain had heard the name before. Pellinore. Highly trained in psychological warfare and rumoured to have even prevented a war at some point. Nobody knew, because the war never happened - with or without her intervention. "And I thought she didn't like to get physical."

"I meant that figuratively. Once she's had her go we'll go in and ask him about Jade. You want a burger?"

"Can't hurt. What do they have here?"

"I've only tried the cheeseburger. It's okay, I guess. There aren't only burgers here, you know."

"Obviously. But I'm really craving fish right now, for some reason, so get me a fish burger, will you?"

"If there's one."

"Off you go; I see Jonas now. And get some ketchup."

Caradoc nodded, and headed to the kitchen doors.

Gawain stood up, shuffled over to the table Jonas was dozing on and set herself down beside him. "Hey," she whispered, rocking his shoulders slightly.

His eyes fluttered open, and squinted at her. "Valerie?" He rubbed his eyes and stretched. "When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago. Your friend Michael gave me a lift from his base."

"Michael isn't my friend. He's an o-"

"An outside contractor, yes. He's talking to the detective inspector upstairs. We can go see him if you want."

"Goodness no. Every time I talk to him I get a friggin headache."

"I'm not going to ask. Did you eat something?"

"I had a sandwich in a cafe. Not the best, but it's better than nothing. I'm guessing you haven't met our guest yet."

"I heard about Marcel. Can't wait to beat his face in."

"One of yours is doing that right now, isn't she? I saw her go in with knuckledusters."

Gawain nodded. "We'll get it out of him. Marcel's got to know something to do with Garth, and then we'll go get him."

Jonas' fists clenched on the table. He cast his eyes at his own reflection in the polished metal surface, lips locked in a flat line. "Can you promise me I'll get the last shot at those two?"

"At Antoine and Garth? I can't."

"They're mine."

"They're not yours," she corrected. "Yes, they deserve a bullet to the head, but I can't guarantee that you'll get the opportunity."

"Then I'll create the opportunity."

"Does this mean you're coming with us when we find them?"

"Is there a problem?"

"We've a policy of not putting civilians in danger."

"Do I look like a fucking civilian to you? Actually, I probably do, but I've come this far and I don't think I qualify as one anymore."

"And if you die?"

"Then so be it. I'll take the fuckers with me. Or at least one of them. You guys can take the other one, right?"

"I can't guarantee your survival."

"Then don't. If it's my time, I'll die and there'll be nothing you can do about it. Give me the shot at at least Antoine. Fucker killed Klaas and i'm not letting that shit go."

"Fair enough. Wanna...wanna talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

"Karlien."

He swallowed. "They're running a search for her. Some program that calculates possible routes or something, but Amsterdam is a big city."

"We'll find her. But Jonas, if she's…"

"If she's dead? I'm ready to accept that, thank you very much. I'd prefer it though if you could get her back to me in one piece."

Caradoc set a metal tray containing a plate with a burger and a packet of ketchup on it on the table in front of Gawain. "They didn't have fish, only shrimp."

"That's fine," Gawain said. "Jonas, we'll do everything in our power to bring her back. But I can't guarantee her survival either."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," Jonas said, lowering his chin back down on the tabletop. "Can you sit somewhere else? I'm trying to sleep."

Gawain rolled her eyes and picked her tray, reassuming her position on the previous table with Caradoc. She picked up the burger with both hands and took a small bite out of it, chewing for a moment and then swallowing. "Not as bad as I thought it'd be."

"Ketchup or no ketchup?"

"I'll live with none. How are you stopping the police from coming down here?"

"Roland knows a guy in the government. He's listing this as some sort of confidential area, so the cops have no jurisdiction. And they're all going to have to sign something to keep their mouth shut as well."

She took a large bite out of the burger.

Caradoc's pager beeped. "Pellinore's done. You wanna finish that?"

"Give me a moment." In three quick bites, she had stuffed the entire remaining portion of the burger into her mouth, chewed for a long while and then swallowed. "Done. Any drinks?"

Caradoc pointed to a wheeled cart sitting in between to tables, lined with bottled water. "Go crazy."

Gawain picked one up, twisted the top off and tipped it down her throat. She removed the bottle from her mouth, half-empty. "So, Marcel?"

"Follow me." Caradoc went for another door in the cafeteria, into a slightly wider corridor with office doors. He led her around two turns, and to a door labeled "Interrogation". Knocking on it three times, he opened it and stepped in.

They were in a small room with another door, right next to a one-way mirror which allowed them to see into a padded room where Marcel was tied to a chair with zip ties. A table was relegated to one corner of the small room, a laptop on it and a short man was hunched over the keyboard. Sitting on the table edge beside him was a woman in a cream suit, polishing a pair of brass knuckles with a bloody handkerchief.

"Gawain, this is Esclados and Pellinore," Caradoc said, pointing at the short man and then the woman.

"He's as tight as a clam," Pellinore said. "You here to have a go?" She extended the hand with the knuckledusters.

"Not my style," Gawain said., pushing Pellinore's hand back. "Marcel knows me. Maybe I can get him to say something."

"She did say 'tight as a clam'," Esclados said. "But if you wanna have a go, the door's unlocked. Just don't kill him, okay?"

Gawain looked at Caradoc. "Don't wait for me. I'll be a while." She put one hand on the interrogation room handle, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Caradoc made his way down a corridor that curved downwards in half a spiral, and stopped at the reinforced door to Roland's office. He raised one hand and gave it three quick raps.

Moments later, a latch clicked from the inside, and Roland held the door open. Past her was a spartan room with bleak grey walls and floor, and a very standard metal desk in the middle of it. On the desk, next to the computer, was a splash of colour in the form of a potted cactus.

Caradoc took a step into the room, and glanced at the various locks on Roland's door. "You really like your privacy."

"I just don't like people entering without knocking."

 _Then one lock would do,_ Caradoc thought, but said nothing. He pulled the metal chair back and sat down on it, shifting in his seat.

Roland closed the door, and from where Caradoc sat, he heard several _clicks_ and _clacks_ as she re-engaged the locks. She sat in her own identical chair opposite him. "Charlemagne sends his regards."

"Does he? You still haven't told me how he's doing."

"His orders. Charlemagne is concerned that we might have another mole."

Caradoc nodded. "So Doctor Estok's voiced his concerns to you?"

"I don't know what you found him, but he's one of the best doctors I've ever met. Highly intelligent as well. I might consider sending him to New York."

"If anyone's sending him to New York, it's me, Eve. I found him and he's mine. You looked into the leak?"

Roland adjusted her glasses. "I did."

"Anyone else know about this?"

"I haven't told anyone yet. Right now I only trust you, the doc and Gawain. And Esclados as well."

"Why him?"

"I know the guy. He wouldn't do it. He just...just hasn't got the balls to. Don't tell him I said that, though."

"I won't. What did you find?"

"I checked with Agravain, and he's combing there, and Galahad doesn't think anyone on his team could be the mole. But…" She pushed the computer screen to the side and spun it around a little.

On the screen was a still from a video camera, of Pellinore talking into her mobile phone.

"Strange thing is, there was no record of this call on her phone."

"Interesting." Caradoc leaned closer to the screen. "Did she make the call or did someone ring her?"

"Someone called her."

"I'll ask her about it" Caradoc stood up and pushed his chair back into its original position. "And I'm going to have to ask you to stop looking into this."

"Two heads are better than one."

"But," Caradoc said slowly. "I don't know if you're the mole or not."

Roland furrowed her brow at that, but said nothing and nodded instead, turning her computer screen back towards herself. She got out of her seat and ritualistically worked on each of the locks on her door.

Latch, slider, chain, deadbolt. Caradoc watched as she flicked each one out of its secured position, and then calmly pulled the door open for him.

"I think it's best if we don't discuss the mole at all, at least until you have enough evidence to convict someone."

"It's for the best, isn't it?"

Roland said nothing, shutting the door.

* * *

"Where's Pellinore?" Caradoc asked, poking his head in through the doorway.

Esclados turned to him, yawning. "I dunno, she left a few minutes ago. Personal errand or something."

"You look like you could use some sleep."

He shook his head. "I'm used to this. I pulled a five-nighter after V-day as well, so I'm fine. Marcel isn't though."

Caradoc swung into the room, and peered at one of the monitors. "I don't see anything wrong wi- oh, shit."

"Does she do that a lot?"

"Yeah. Two guys in the last few days as well so try not to piss her off. Tell me if Pellinore comes back, eh?"

"I'll call you." Esclados went back to staring at his screen, folding his arms on the tabletop and resting his chin on them.

Caradoc exited into the hallway, and made a turn, bringing him to one of the doors to the cafeteria, which he pushed in. The bittersweet smell characteristic of ground coffee wafted to his nose, and he looked over to the corner of the room, where workers and one of the agents were standing around a counter.

Urien had a ceramic mug with the French flag plastered on the side in his hand, periodically sipping from it, and he stood leaned against one of the tables, listening to a worker recount something. His eyes slid to Caradoc for the briefest moment, and then back to the worker.

"Urien," Caradoc said. "You got some time?"

He said something to the workman, and he scurried back to his friends who were camped out on a nearby table. "You're a godsend."

"Am I?"

"First you save Pellinore's life, then you save me from this guy who was trying to tell me about that one time he went to Vegas and got a tattoo or something. The last time I went to Vegas a casino almost got blown up and I fell off the roof of a skyscraper."

"That's what we're for, isn't it? Coffee any good?"

"It sucks. But better than instant _merde_."

Caradoc hailed the cook with a wave and raised his index finger, before turning back to Urien. "How's Kay?"

"Doing fine. Shot collapsed his lung, so he'll be out of comission for a while. Makes me wonder how you guys do it up in Amsterdam without all these guys." He waved his hand around at the workers.

"There's not much going on there, really," Caradoc said, taking a steaming mug from the cook. "Not a lot of 'bad guys' set up in Holland. Sometimes I envy you guys, going undercover or getting in a shootout all the time."

"You don't seem to be missing out."

"Yeah, this week's kind of been...intense, if that's the right word for it. I've had more bullets fired at me in the last three days than I've had in years."

"Makes you wonder who they are, don't they?"

"Gawain is working that out right now. With shoe-to-groin contact."

"Oh, you wish it was you."

"What?"

"You wish she did that to you as well."

"Who the fuck wants to get kicked in the balls? Actually, don't answer that, just piss her off and we'll see."

"You're right, but she'd be paying attention to you, wouldn't she? Isn't that what you want?"

"The heck are you babbling on about now?"

"It's clear as fucking day, man. The others probably don't give a damn or respect you or whatever, bu-"

"And you don't respect me?" Caradoc cut in. He took a sip of his coffee, and grimaced. "Wow, this sucks."

"Don't change the subject; I'm just being honest. Why don't you just ask her?" Urien had a wolfish grin on his tanned face.

"We agreed to end it."

"Oh, so you've hit it before."

"You know, you should shut up before you have to drink that coffee through a straw." Caradoc couldn't help but smile.

"Dunno, it might taste better."

"Maybe I don't have to do it. Maybe the cook will do it. Tell me: did you have a parachute in Vegas?"

"Why do I feel like this is going to be a threat?"

"Just answer the damned question."

"I managed to get on one before the guys started shooting. It was like a fucking action movie but shit, broken glass hurts like hell."

"Would you like to try it from a skyscraper in Paris, without the parachute?"

"I think the answer is obvious."

"Then shut up about...about whatever it was you were rattling on about before. If Esclados starts giggling I'll know who to go to." Caradoc tipped back the rest of the coffee, and set it on the cook's table. "I'm going to see Kay."

"Do you even know where the medical bay is?"

"Er...no?"

Urien pointed at the cafeteria door that opened into the T-junction. "Right, and right again at the end. Kind of hard to miss."

"See you."

"Do yourself a favour and tell her."

Caradoc raised his middle digit at Urien as he exited to the intersection, and turned right as instructed. The corridor split left and right again at the end, but the left path led to the bathrooms. To the right was a pair of stark white doors, and the sign above it said "Medical Bay".

He pushed one of the doors in, and into a brightly lit room with rows of empty hospital beds. A woman in nurse uniform was scribbling on a clipboard on a desk in one corner of the room, and Kay laid asleep on one of the beds.

"Can I wake him?" Caradoc asked.

The nurse jumped the tip of her pencil stubbed against the clipboard, breaking it. "Y-yes you can," she stammered.

"Thank you." Caradoc stood beside Kay's still body, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. "What now?" he croaked.

"Just checking to see if you're okay. Rough day, huh?"

Kay chuckled, then jerked forwards, coughing. The nurse looked over from her desk, but Kay gave her a wave and laid back down. "Rough week, really. I was about to crack down on some kingpin."

"No shit?"

"No shit." Kay coughed again, albeit less violently. "He literally stuck a gun up my ass on my first day undercover and asked if I was a spy."

"Seem like the classes Ga-" His watch vibrated, and he tapped the button on the leg of his glasses. "Yes?"

"Val's done with Marcel," Esclados said. "She got nothing. This guy is persistent, man."

"Alright, let me finish up here with Kay and i'll get back," He hung up. "Sorry about that," he said to the injured agents. "Where was I?"

"You said my classes with Galahad something, I think."

"Oh, I was saying they paid off. Because otherwise…"

"Can we not? It still hurts."

"Fine by me. Wait, when you say it hurts, do you mean it figuratively or do you mean your arsehole hurts?"

"Just let it go."

Caradoc broke out a grin. "Has Pellinore visited you yet?"

"No, why?"

"I've something I need to discuss with her. Not in a rush, but tell the nurse to call me when you see her, alright?"

"Will do."

Caradoc waved and exited the medical bay, jogging down the corridor, into the cafeteria, past a snickering Urien and through the other door, then down the corridor and into the interrogation observation room.

Gawain and Esclados were sat in front of the computer screen, Esclados' hand tapping a few keys to play the video back and forth.

"Nothing?" Caradoc asked, pulling up a chair beside them.

"Nothing," Gawain said. "If Pellinore can't get it out of him, I doubt either of us can. I'm out of ideas."

"Tasers?" Esclados suggested.

"Or you could give him the same treatment as he gave Holly," Caradoc said. "I know an eye for an eye isn't exactly modern, but he might feel guilty or something."

"Marcel? He's a narcissist. He won't feel guilty."

"Not before I'm done with him, no." Caradoc picked up a paper clip from Esclados' desk. "This is gonna take a while."

"Take your time. He's not going anywhere."

Caradoc winked, and opened the door into Marcel's room.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

The tap of a fleshy hand on Gawain shoulder dragged her out of a dark room, into the light, and to the sounds of a soft beeping. She rubbed away the rheum around her eyes, and looked up at Esclados.

"Marcel's stuff," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Is it a bomb?"

"I don't know!"

Gawain kicked her seat back, launching herself towards the shelf Esclados had placed Marcel's stuff on, and picked up the watch. The small LCD display read exactly 4am, and it blinked, beeping repeatedly.

"Is it?" Esclados whimpered.

"No," she said, handing it to him. "Just probably when he wakes up every day."

"Ask him anyway, will you?" He turned off the alarm with the press of a button. "Just in case it's something."

"Right." She turned to the screen, where Marcel sat alone in his room. "When did Dirk finish up?"

"An hour ago. Said he was going to bed. I didn't wanna wake you. Wanna see his interrogation clip?"

"No, it's fine. Unlock the door." She pried the watch out of his hand.

With the touch of a button, the light on the door's electronic lock changed from red to green. Gawain pushed it open, and stepped into Marcel's room, her shoes clicking on the concrete floor. 'Marcel," she said.

He was asleep, his head drooped and resting on his right shoulder. A trail of saliva had formed down his cheek and the front of his shirt, creating a dark trail in the material. Around his left hand a bandage was wrapped, stained with blood.

She held the watch by its strap, raised it and smacked Marcel right across his face.

He shuddered awake, tugging at his restraints, before catching sight of Gawain. He slumped back in his seat and smiled. "Back for seconds, Miss Izaks?"

"Your watch beeped."

"Is it five already? It's a good thing you woke me then." He yawned, and sighed heavily. "Your boyfriend already tried everything…" He pointed to his bandaged hand with his chin. "...and he got nothing. What makes you think you will?"

"Because you said it's 5am."

Visibly, the blood drained from Marcel's face. He shifted in his chair, glancing at the door of his room. "Did I? What time is it?"

"It's four."

"Oh, then the watch must be broken, then. Been tinkering around with it for months now and I've never really gotten it to wo-"

Gawain stuck him again with the watch. "What's happening?"

Marcel slowly raised his head into its original position, smiling. "I suppose it makes no difference anymore. Jade's on her way."

"To where?"

"Where do you think?"

"Don't play games with me, Marcel. Where's Jade going?"

"I've changed my mind about it making a di-" The watch strap flicked across his cheek. "Ow! Stop it with that!"

"Where is she?"

"Fine, she's going to CERN. You're too late anyway."

"Go back to sleep." She stormed out of the room to Esclados, who was talking into his microphone.

"-end Gawain and Caradoc and probably Urien as well. Yes, sir, I'm aware. Okay, that can be arranged. Have a nice day, sir." Esclados ripped his earpiece off and set it on the table sighing. "Why can't these people do anything simply?"

"Because they're not our run-of-the-mill mustache twirling villains. Not like Valentine."

"You have to admit Valentine was pretty good."

"I don't think 'good' is the right word for it. When do we leave?"

"Go get Dirk; I'll call Urien. You're taking the train straight to Geneva, then on a helo to CERN. Can I suggest something?"

"Yeah?"

"Take Doctor Estok."

"For what?"

"While you were asleep, he emailed me about those cubes Marcel used. Said there's antimatter in them and he knows how they work or something. If I'm right and Jade's going to CERN for antimatter, he'll know what to do."

"Who _is_ he?"

"He doesn't exist on any file whatsoever," Esclados said. "Not a single database in the world contains 'David Estok' that matches out doc. But that's not important right now. The train's ready."

"This isn't over." Gawain swung out the doorway into the hallway, and jogged down it towards one of the doors and threw it open.

It hit Holly in the centre of her forehead. She stumbled back, holding onto the frame of one of the bunk beds for support.

"Oh goodness! Sorry!" She crouched beside Caradoc's sleeping body, and grabbed both his shoulders.

His eyes opened instantly, as if he hadn't been sleeping at all. "What's going on? Are we being attacked?"

"No, but Jade's going to CERN to get more antimatter. We're meeting up with Charlemagne in Geneva. By train."

"Good enough for me." Caradoc swung his legs off the bed. "I heard there's an armoury on the train."

"You heard right." Gawain turned to Holly, who was sitting on her bed. "You stay put. Sorry about that door. Have you seen David?"

"Esclados' lab, I think."

"Where the heck is that?"

"Opposite the medical bay."

"I know where that is," Caradoc said, slipping into his Oxfords and tying the laces. "I'll be right back." He disappeared through the doorway, leaving Gawain and Holly alone in the room.

"Sorry," Gawain said again, before exiting and hiking her way down the passages, back to the room Esclados was in.

"I'm handing Marcel over to the police, if that's fine with you."

"It's fine. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually." He pointed at the screen, where the face of one of Marcel's dead men was placed on the corner of a white document. "Every single man we killed yesterday was ex-Legionnaire."

"As in…?"

"French Foreign Legion. Foreign volunteers in the French army. Most of them have served in their own militaries as well, so I'm guessing Marcel went for the ones with a shitload of experience."

"Good to know. Armoury in the train?"

"Still functional. You got a tie clip?"

"Nobody wears a tie clip these days."

"Well, it's also a lockpick so grab one."

"Will do." She turned out of the room with a flourish, and took the narrow staircase outside it down to the train station platform. The train's doors opened automatically, and she headed down its LED-lit aisle, to the last caboose, which had "Equipment" stamped into the metal door.

Behind the door were shelves, and on the shelves were guns. Lots of guns.

Gawain grabbed a tie clip from a small box on one of the shelves and slid it on her brand new black silk tie, followed by the addition of a traditional TT-30 to her pocket. Her eyes turned to the umbrella bin stashed in one corner of the room, and she pulled one out, before exiting the armoury and taking a seat on one of the plush chairs.

Caradoc stepped into the same caboose, with Estok right behind him. "Did Esclados tell you about the tie clip?"

"It's a lockpick as well, apparently. Any idea how fast this train goes?"

"Apparently very. Give me a sec." Caradoc made his way through the armoury door.

Estok sat down directly opposite her, smiling. "You people sure go on a lot of adventures. Makes me wish my life wasn't boring."

"Oh, it's seasonal, trust me. This week's just been a damned blast." She flicked her neatly manicured nails at the seat. "Esclados tells me you figured out the antimatter bombs Marcel used."

"Oh, simple really. Don't tell anyone, but I almost blew up the entire lab when I tried to deactivate the field holding it inside."

"How'd you manage that?"

"I simply used a power pack to short-circuit the levitation mechanism, then stripped away everything else."

"No, I mean, how'd you figure it out? Aren't you like, a vet or something?"

"Actually, I'm an anesthesiologist."

Gawain gave him a blank look.

"That means I provide the necessary meds to patients to keep then sedative and painless during operations. Great pay, really."

"How do you know so much about antimatter?"

"I dabbled in university. Had a few friends in the physics department, and in my last year they got hold of some antimatter. They showed me a lot of great stuff; have you ever seen annihilation?"

"Why do you think Dirk's missing an eye?"

"My condolences," he said with a glance to the armoury door. "If you don't mind, what happened?"

"We were on a mission in the Alps, there was a large antimatter bomb, and it blew up when he was in the room."

"I can see the signs of plastic surgery."

"It took him months to recover. But enough about that. More about you. Who _are_ you, really, doctor?"

"I'm David Estok, from England."

"Then why aren't you on any database we have access to?"

"Maybe I'm on a database you don't have access to."

"I find that hard to believe. What kind of man can become a doctor yet leave no trace of himself?"

"An interesting one, I'm sure." He winked. "If you're going to shoot me, you better do it before Dirk comes out and stops you."

Gawain suddenly realised that her hand was halfway into the pocket that contained her TT-30, and quickly withdrew it. "Then you better tell me who you are and where you're from and why you're really doing this."

"I care about the future of the world. Without Kingsman there isn't anyone to protect us from maniacs like Valentine."

"That's not what you really want, isn't it?"

"You won't be satisfied otherwise."

"I don't need to be satisfied."

Estok leaned back and closed his eyes, still smiling. "It's actually because you look a lot like my wife."

"Oh, quit playing."

"I'm telling you the truth. I miss my wife, you look like her, so I was curious. Then I got dragged into all this mess."

"Isn't it a coincidence that you happen to know exactly how to work with antimatter when we need you? Were you waiting for me at that hospital?"

"And what would the point be? Infiltrate you? They've already got spies among you - oh, don't try to hide it, you've been looking over your shoulder since you got here. Someone's leaking your intel to the outside."

"It's very likely that it's you."

"I haven't been allowed access to - pfft - anything, really, other than that bomb. You can do better than that."

"Seriously, why are you doing this?"

"Because you look kind of like my wife," Estok repeated, crossing his arms.

"Oi, I heard that," Caradoc said, stepping out of the armoury. "Why isn't the train moving yet?"

"Urien isn't here yet," Gawain said, leaning to look out the windows. "We're already late."

"Sepak of the devil," Estok said.

Urien, his hair drenched with sweat, stepped onto the train. "Sorry, I was out getting breakfast."

"At four a.m.?" Gawain asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I eat when I can. Are we waiting for anyone else?"

"No," Caradoc said, pressing some buttons on his glasses. "Esclados, we're good to g- wait, what? Oh, okay."

"What?"

The caboose doors opened again, and Jonas stepped in, a guitar case strapped to his back. "You're not leaving me behind."

"I was wondering where you were," Caradoc said. "There are a few rifles in the back, if you haven't picked one."

"I've got one."

The doors sealed, and train jerked a little, accelerating along the track. Soon, the world outside was only the blackness of the tunnel walls, leaving only them in their pocket universe of the train compartment.

Nobody said anything.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The train station in Geneva was smaller than the one in Paris, and part of it was blocked off by construction paper as workers milled around it, entering and exiting the other parts of the similarly-built underground HQ through a flap in the material.

Caradoc was the first to step onto the platform, making a beeline for the suited man standing next to the shiny new chrome-plated ladders which led up to a manhole. "How long until we get there?" he demanded.

"Five to ten minutes." The man with the halting accent held out a gloved hand. "I'm Ector, in charge of training in Berlin."

"Appreciate the work you're doing, but we've got to move. Are we taking a van?"

"Standard issue, nothing new." He pointed to the manhole cover above them, and took one of the rungs of a ladder in one hand, climbing it.

Caradoc grabbed the first rung available after Ector had cleared it, and pulled himself up, reaching out with another hand to grab the one Ector had just passed. A blinding beam of light pierced down through the gap in the ceiling as the German agent pushed the manhole out, and disappeared into the glare.

Caradoc put both hands on the asphalt outside, and lifted himself out of the hole in the ground, swinging his legs sideways as not to obstruct Gawain. He quickly got to his feet and scanned his surroundings.

They were in a small, fenced-off courtyard, with one way out: a narrow alley that was currently being blocked by a red news van, of a French news network.

Ector threw the back doors open, and Caradoc climbed into the passenger's seat, slamming the belt tongue into its latch. "Where's Charlemagne."

"He's not picking up," Ector said, closing the doors and sliding into the passenger. "Everybody, hold on."

The car took off like a speeding bullet, Ector's foot mashing the accelerator. He weaved through traffic, ignoring the blares of the horns on the cars of angry drivers as he turned off the road, and into a massive parking lot.

Caradoc the the door beside him open at the first instant the car stopped, and sprinted across the seemingly empty grounds of the CERN facility, umbrella in hand.

Something flashed just above the roof.

He opened up the umbrella just in time for a large hole to appear in it, the sniper's bullet going through the resistant material. Caradoc tossed the damaged shield away and ducked behind a small monument. "Val, I'm pinned!"

"Working on i- shit! Mines all over the way up. This is going to take some time."

"Distract him at least!" He drew his pistol.

"Okay, flashbang in three, two, one!"

Caradoc heard a massive _bang_ , and dug his shoes into the grass and launching himself out of cover and into a sprint towards the doors to the building.

At the doors, a maelstrom of bullets blew the glass to pieces. Caradoc aimed his pistol in the general direction of the gunfire, and pulled the second trigger.

The shotgun shell underneath the barrel of the TT-30 exploded outwards, the pellets it produced slicing through the flesh of the soldiers firing at him.

Caradoc jumped through the window, pulling the pistol trigger once and putting a hole into the forehead of the only living man left, who was clutching his arm, which had almost been sheared off by the shotgun blast. "Where to next?" he asked Gawain.

"I'm sending over a map," Ector replied instead. "You're on your own for now, at least until we get rid of this fucker."

"Can't you just climb up there and shoot him?"

"There's like, five guys up there. Scattered, too. They were waiting for us."

"Got the map. Try not to die."

"Thanks for the advice," Jonas said dryly. "No go and do whatever the fuck you have to do."

Caradoc gave his acknowledgement, and threw open the door to the staircase. He descended into a tunnel-like passage lit by flashing yellow lights, and turned another corner, using the map in the lens of his glasses to navigate.

He fired his pistol once into the electronic lock of a door and opened it to an oblong room where several men and women were tied up on the ground, and a trio of soldiers patrolled. Caradoc shot the nearest Legionnaire in the chest, and ran towards one of the tables. He put one foot on it and launched himself into the air, then pulled the trigger twice, dropping the other two before landing on one shoulder.

The knob on one of the other doors turned.

He whipped out one of the three lighters he had packed, activated it and slid it into the gap that it opened.

The door exploded into splinters. An arm poked out of the doorway, lifeless and not attached to a body at all, as Caradoc discovered when he looked down the corridor he had just blown up.

Instead, he saw a black octagon at the end of a long corridor, and then he was on the floor, fifty-thousand volts running through his system.

Through the massive veil of pain and blurriness that clouded his vision, he flicked another lighter open and tossed it through the doorway. The distant-sounding explosion didn't feel like it had any impact as Caradoc rolled to the side and yanked the electrified bolas off his neck.

He kept the gun aimed at the broken door as he took a moment to catch his breath. Reaching behind him, he scooped up a TAR21, holstered his pistol and stood up. He fired before he rounded the corner down the corridor.

Antoine's umbrella was gone, leaving only the charred and shredded corpses of the soldiers on the floor.

"Antoine's here," he said into the spectacles.

"Is Garth there too?" Gawain asked.

"Probably. I haven't seen him."

"I'm through," Ector said. "Coming down to you. Is it clear?"

"For now, yes," Caradoc said. "Any idea on how to deal with Antoine?"

"That's my part," Jonas said. "Just wait till I get there - my gun can get through that umbrella he has."

"I'm going after him." He turned to the bound and gagged scientists on the floor. "Stay where you are." Holding his rifle at shoulder height and aiming down the sights, Caradoc made his way down the corridor. At the T-junction at the end, he swung the gun left, and seeing nothing, right.

There were doors on both sides, each with its own electronic lock. He pulled the trigger and blew the lock on the left door apart, kicking it in...to a dark storage room.

Caradoc switched on the infrared in his glasses, and stalked between the rows of crates.

A soldier with night-vision goggles leaned out from behind a box and his rifle spat fire.

Caradoc sidestepped the burst and returned with one of his own, catching the soldier in the shoulder and causing him to fall back.

Footsteps, behind him.

Caradoc ran to the end of his aisle, and just as an arm holding a pistol poked out from behind a shelf, ducked and jammed the signet ring into the soft flesh below the wrist of the person holding the gun. He slammed the barrel of the TAR21 into the soldier's abdomen, knocking the wind out of...her.

He wrapped his arm around the Asian woman's neck - propping his rifle in the process - and jammed his pistol to the side of her skull. "Where's Antoine?"

She said nothing.

"You must be Jade."

"Oh, you you know my name," she gloated. "And torture me all you like; Antoine's gone by now."

"To where?"

"He didn't tell me. That was part of the plan. I make a good distraction, don't I?"

"What are you planning?"

"I'm sorry, am I in one of your stupid James Bond movies? Because this is starting to sound exactly like that."

"You can either tell us now or one of my friends is going to make you say it later."

"Is it the cute one? Like I said, you can torture me all you like because I don't know."

Caradoc pushed Jade against a box, raised his pistol at her head and pulled the trigger. She slumped to the ground, a neat red hole in the side of her head. "Val, I just killed Jade. Antoine's operating independently of her so she's no use."

"Yeah, a truck just pulled out of the parking lot with a lot of boxes. Must be the antimatter. We're clear up here."

"Did you get the license plate?"

"It didn't have one. The sniper was a fucking distraction. I've already told Esclados what it looks like, so he can track it."

Ector poked his head into the storage room. "You coming?"

Caradoc ran after him, back through the room with the scientists, through the corridors and up the stairs. He jumped back out through the broken window, to where Urien was frisking a dead soldier on the grass.

"No IDs of any kind, just like in Paris," he said, standing up.

The back of their van shot up the path and stopped next to them. Jonas poked his head out the driver's window. "Get the fuck in!"

Caradoc opened the doors and reassumed his position in the passenger seat.

Gawain was already inside, speaking rapidly to Esclados over the intercom. "Yes, do it. Okay, Jonas, the GPS should track the truck now."

"Go go go!" Urien shouted, slapping the headrest of Jonas' seat.

The van took off even faster than before, through the chaos that was traffic. On the GPS device screen, the white dot that represented their van was getting closer to the red dot, which had stopped in the middle of a long bridge.

Caradoc rolled down the window on his side, and poked his head out a little. The truck was right next to the railing, and soldiers were tossing wooden boxes over the side and into the Rhone. Seconds later, Antoine jumped off the bridge.

He pulled his pistol and fired on the soldiers as Jonas stopped the car and jumped out.

Jonas set the bipod of his rifle on the railing, took aim at a small grey patrol boat speeding down the river. The rifle roared, and Caradoc saw one of the Legionnaires flop into the water, sinking out of view.

"Jump!" Gawain said, swinging herself over the railing.

Caradoc did the same, and suddenly found himself sprawled on the seat of a speedboat, right next to a young woman. His buttocks hurt.

Gawain popped up and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "Can you swim?"

She nodded.

Gawain pushed her over the side of the boat and took the steering wheel. "Get ready to shoot!"

Caradoc propped himself up on the side of the boat, pistol ready.

Another one of Antoine's men fell into the water from the back of the patrol boat, turning the water around him red.

Caradoc lowered his gun and held up his last lighter grenade. "Get me closer and I'll fling it into the bridge!"

As Gawain accelerated to get close to the patrol boat, he could see the river widening, opening its mouth into some large body of water he didn't know the name of. He pulled his arm back and flung the lighter onto the aft deck of the patrol boat.

It bounced off one of the crates, and fell into the water, detonating and creating a water spout.

"That was my last one," he said.

"Switch with me." Gawain took out her own lighter and stood up from her seat.

Caradoc grabbed the steering wheel and directed their boat alongside the patrol vessel. "Get it right!"

Before she could throw it, the water beside their speedboat erupted into a large geyser.

Caradoc twisted the steering wheel to the left, the boat turning quickly with the help of the eruption. He squinted in the distance, and saw an even larger patrol boat equipped with a cannon in the front.

"Holy fuck…"

"I'm going to ram us onto the shore, okay?"

"It'll get us way before that!"

For a moment, Caradoc stared at the concrete embankment ahead. He could make it if he sped up.

"Dirk!"

"Fuck this!" He grabbed Gawain's hand and jumped off the side of the boat just as the cannon of the larger boat flashed in the distance.

The speedboat exploded.

* * *

Garth paced in back and forth on the marble floor of the penthouse, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze drifted from his feet to the fruit bowl, then to the refrigerator, then to plush sofa in front of the massive flatscreen TV.

His earpiece crackled.

"How did it go?"

"We made it," Antoine said. "Damn that ship is useful."

"How many?"

"Didn't count. Just stuffed it and scrammed. But we got most of them, from what I've seen. We had to leave Jade behind, though."

A smile played across Garth's lips. "That's fine. Did it feel like an action movie?"

"Everything with me feels like an action movie. The boxes are being lifted out as I speak. I still can't believe we brought a boat this far."

"He's really that powerful. Come back and i'll show you around the penthouse. It's like a fuxking palace."

"Yeah, yeah. Anything else?"

"No, I'll see you soon." Garth removed the earpiece and put it in his pocket. He finally stopped in front of the couch and sunk down on it, grabbing the remote and switching to a random channel. It was a cooking show.

The penthouse elevator opened, and a man in traditional white garb stepped out, holding a sandwich. "Has he called you yet?"

"Yes. It went smoothly."

"Kudos to you," the Arab said. "Are you ready for the next phase?"

"Tahal, you know I'm always ready. Hit me."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

"I don't understand," Gawain said again. "How'd they put a get a warship into Lake Geneva?"

"For the last time, it's not a warship," Estok said. "It's a patrol vessel, and from what pictures Dirk got of it, an Independence-class patrol craft."

"You still haven't told me how they got it into a fucking lake that's only accessible by a river - and you said that would draw too much attention."

"Aerial crane. You know those helicopters that took like something took a bite out of them? They probably used two to lift the ship."

"You said you had good news as well."

"Yes, but it might sound a bit far-fetched."

"Far-fetched is pretty normal nowadays. Spill it."

Estok tapped a key and the picture of a patrol boat, similar to the one that had blown them out of the water, appeared on the laptop screen. "The only country that uses this boat is Singapore. It's not operated anywhere else in the world."

"So they airlifted it all the way here?"

"Most likely. The company that built it was absorbed into a British group, so they're not really around anymore."

Gawain sat up in her bunk. "Why Singapore? Why not just buy or steal a boat from...from France or something?"

"I don't know the answer to that. What are you gonna do?"

"I'll have to check with our guys in Singapore, see if they can dig anything up. But for now we'll need to focus on Antoine."

"Oh yeah, I talked to the scientists. They said they got orders from the Director to produce antimatter in container months ago. They've practically been stockpiling it."

"So the Director knows Garth?"

"Seem like it. And now they've got a massive stockpile of antimatter bombs they can use anywhere."

" _And_ they've reduced our number by one again." She looked down at the floor. "Somehow, they knew Charlemagne was there and sent Antoine to get rid of him. And he did. We need to plug this leak ASAP ."

"I heard Dirk was working on that."

"And he said none of the agents seemed like it. So We narrowed the list down."

"Is that why I'm not allowed to leave the room?"

"Precisely. You can use the internet if you want, but we'll be watching every second. One squeak and we shoot you."

"Bit extreme, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, but we can't take any chances. They gain access to the rest of our servers and everyone is doomed. If they can get a warship airlifted from Singapore, who knows what else they can do."

"It's not a-"

"Save it, doc. I know you're trying to help, but please, stay in your room and don't try anything stupid." She opened the door.

"What about meals?"

"You can order over email. Don't worry, doctor, nobody can harm you in here but yourself." She shut the door behind her.

Caradoc was leaning against the wall opposite her in the corridor. "Pellinore's still not back. Tracker says she's at the cafe a few blocks over, though."

"Video feed?"

"She's alone. Ordered a frappe and just sat down and did nothing. Though she did check out the guys a few tables away."

"Guys? Any of them ex-Legionnaires?"

"Nah, one dude was a writer, the other one was in some obscure band I've never heard of. She's fine."

"Are you really sure Urien and Kay both aren't moles? I mean, sure, Kay got shot by Marcel's guys and Urien helped me a lot in Geneva, but it could just be deep cover or something."

"You're saying Garth would let one of his own guys get shot just to preserve cover?"

"We don't know what you're capable of."

"Or maybe you're just tired. I know, it's three in the afternoon, but nobody's going to blame you for taking a nap."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "You're right. I'll be in our room."

"Take all the time you need. Oh, and tell Holly the chef is gonna make minestrone for dinner."

"Noted. Anything else?"

"How about a kiss?"

"Nah. Maybe if you save my life again or something."

"Dammit. So close."

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him down the corridor, whistling to herself.

* * *

"Holy shit, is this Wagyu?" Antoine asked as he chewed the bit of steak in his mouth.

"It is," Tahal said. "I had in flown in this morning."

"You're a very resourceful man," Garth said, sipping the dark red wine the Arab had produced from his fridge. "So, when are you going to tell us about phase three?"

"There _is_ no phase three. Or at least I hope there won't be. If the two of you complete phase two - and I'm confident you're going to - phase three won't be required."

"That's a pretty bold thing to say."

"Like I said, I believe both of you are capable of getting the job done. If you fail, I have a backup plan."

"And are you going to tell us?"

"Not yet. All I can say at this stage is that it involves a very important someone. Just trust me on this."

"Oh, I trust you alright." Garth placed his wineglass back on the antique oak dining table, picking up his steak knife once more. "How the heck are you keeping Diana away from us? She's a fucking hawk."

"I gave her something else to worry about. Namely, your friend Marcel." Tahal transferred a slice of his own steak into his mouth. "At lunch I heard from a contact that he's currently serving a life sentence at La Santé."

"They didn't kill him?"

"They probably pulled some strings to keep him alive. They think he's an asset to their operations. Would you like me to get you in there with a knife or a gun? I've some friends in the Justice Department."

"No, it's fine. Let him rot." Garth wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. "If I killed him, it'd be a blessing for him."

"Fair enough."

They ate in silence for the rest of the hour.

* * *

Gawain opened her eyes just as her alarm clock rang, signifying the start of a new day. She grabbed her phone and pressed the snooze button, before sliding it back under her pillow. The room was still dark, but the internal clock told her it was time to go.

She unbuttoned her shirt, dropped it on the floor and stumbled around until she felt the bathroom door knob, which she turned. Her hand hit the switches on the right wall, flicking the fluorescent bulbs overhead on and illuminating the small square room stuffed with a toilet and a small shower stall in one corner, next to the sink.

She turned the tap on and splashed some water in her face, blinking and looking into the mirror above the sink.

 _Wow, I look like shit_ , she thought, before taking off her undergarments and stepping into the shower.

The warm water lasted forever, courtesy of the geothermal deposit she had heard Esclados talk about. She got out of the shower stall and onto the mat, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. She flicked on the main lights as she exited the bathroom.

The closet next to the bunk beds contained several new suits of sizes that fit her and Caradoc, sent directly from the tailor's on the other side of town. She grabbed one of hers and slipped into it piece by piece, and grabbed her phone from under the pillow..

Caradoc groaned from the top bunk just as she was putting on her tie. "What fucking time is it?"

"Five-thirty. What time did you go to bed?"

"One. Can you turn off the lights?"

"One moment." She straightened her tie, buttoned up her coat and opened the door. "Just don't stay in too late." She flicked the switch, plunging the room back into darkness, and opened the door out into the corridor.

Something clattered to the ground.

Gawain turned and picked up Caradoc's mobile phone from the floor. "You didn't charge it last night?"

"No...give it here." He reached out blindly with one hand.

Curious, Gawain turned on the lockscreen, which had a picture of Caradoc's pet corgi wearing his glasses. She wiped and was faced with a keypad. "What's your password?"

"What? Oh, it's one-three-seven-nine."

She tapped in the numbers one by one. "You're not worried about this thing being stol- what the heck?"

She heard a rustling as Caradoc sat straight up and reached for the phone. Gawain took a step back, out of his reach. "Give that back!"

"Why on Earth do you have-"

"I said give it back!"

"Not until you explain this," she turned the phone screen towards him. "You're ten years older than her. Literally ten years."

"Is there a problem?"

"...yes?"

"Well, I don't see any, so hand. It. Over!"

"What do you think's going to happen when Galahad finds out you've got pictures of his girl on your phone? And what did….what did you do last night?"

"Nothing! Val, I swear, if you don't give me that…"

"Empty threat." She swiped to a different image. "Where'd you even get this one? Actually, don't answer, I don't want to know."

Caradoc tumbled off the bunk and snatched the mobile phone out of her hand, turning the screen off and stuffing it in his own pocket. "Would you like it if I stole your phone and searched it as well?"

"If you're not guilty, you've got nothing to hide."

"Then gimme."

"I'll trade it for yours."

"You've seen enough."

"Clearly not. You're not getting it unless you give me yours as well. Deal or no deal?"

"I'll get in there eventually." She stepped out of the room, pushing the door shut.

"What was all that about?" Escaldos asked from down the hallway.

"Nothing," she said. "Did you sleep last night?"

"No."

"That can't be healthy."

"I told you I'm used to it. Got some time? I've some results from the satellite scan I requested from the NRO yesterday?"

She walked up to him. "NRO?"

"National Reconnaissance Office, in America. Like a little brother to the NSA. They control most of the spy satellites."

"And what'd you get?"

Esclados raised his clipboard tablet, which showed a satellite image of Lake Geneva. He tapped on a magnifying glass, and the camera zoomed in on two orange specks over something grey. "Those are your aerial cranes lifting the boat out of the water."

"Can we get any closer?"

"A bit." He tapped the magnifier again, and the orange dots became distinct helicopter profiles. A smaller, blue dot was now also visible "But they won't let me have anything beyond this point."

"So what?"

"Here." He tapped an arrow at the bottom of the screen, and the clip changed, the helicopters moving slightly eastwards and the . "From this…" He pressed on the arrow several times in succession, each tap moving the orange shapes further east and the blue west. "...I tracked the blue one to a port here." Esclados pressed and held the arrow, until the slider was nearly at the end and the aircraft had disappeared off screen. He put a finger on the screen and swiped, causing the camera to pan to left.

The blue shape were on the west coast of France, hovering over a blurry grey area.

"You think that's Antoine?"

"Either him or Garth. Or both. We should check this port out."

"I'll do it. Don't wake up Dirk, okay? He's done enough, and this could just be nothing."

"It's never nothing."

"Does the train get there?"

"Not exactly, but pretty close. You'll have to call a cab or steal a car or something when you get there."

"Good enough. While I'm gone, tell me if anyone is acting suspicious, alright?"

"You mean the mole. How do you know that's not me?"

"Because you just proved it to me." She gave him a winked and turned down the corridor, towards the stairs leading to the train station platform.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"You're back," Caradoc said.

Pellinore frowned as she emerged from the confessional lift. "I'm sorry, were you waiting for me?"

"Yes, I am. Where were you this morning?"

"I was at my favourite cafe, having breakfast. But I'm sure you saw that through my glasses, didn't you? What's going on here, really?"

"You go to the cafe every day?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Just say it for the record, please." Caradoc's hand tapped the leg of his glasses. "Do you go to that cafe every day?"

"Yes, I do. What's this about?"

"We have a mole. And you might be that mole." Caradoc held out the flat palm of his hand. "Glasses, please."

Hesitantly, Pellinore slipped her spectacles off, folded the legs and put them in Caradoc's hand. "Are the others being quarantined as well?"

"Everyone agent except Esclados and me."

"How do I know _you're_ not the mole?"

"Because I just got here, and I didn't know Charlemagne was at CERN until Roland told me. Marcel had this planned way before."

"What about the other branches that we send reports to? Is New York getting this as well?"

"They are. Everyone is. I'm sorry, but you just have to go with the flow. You'll be in your room." He pulled opened a door into the living quarters. "I'm hoping you're not the mole either, Maddy, but I can't take any chances."

"You've locked Doctor Estok away as well, haven't you? He arrived with you."

"That's because he doesn't appear on any database. He's a ghost, and I don't trust him one bit."

"Jonas?"

"A precaution. We're not sure what he did after I left him at the border."

"Psh, I understand." She started marching down the corridor, to the third door, which had her codename on it. Gingerly, she tapped in the four-digit code in the numpad and pulled the door open.

Caradoc stared intently at her as she disappeared in the room, then shut the door, the electronic bolt clicking into place with a soft _clank_.

"That's all of us," Esclados said over the intercom.

"Is anyone acting strangely?"

"No, not yet. Kay's reading a book, Urien's looking dead in his bunk, David's just staring at a wall, Maddy's on her phone and Jonas is...what the heck is he doing?"

"Describe it," Caradoc said, heading down the corridor for the last door.

"He's using a piece of the bed frame to tap morse code on the door. One second...he's saying your name over and over."

Caradoc reached the door to Jonas' room and tapped in the code, unlocking the door and swinging it open.

Jonas tumbled out, the metal pipe in one hand and his phone in the other. "You have to let me out."

"I can't do that," Caradoc said, pulling the metal rod out of his hand and tossing it down the corridor. With one hand, he pushed Jonas back through the doorway. "You can go after we find the mole."

"No, right now."

"I'm sorry." He swung the door shut.

Jonas' foot rammed into his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He reached inside his coat, fingers wrapping around the grip of his TT-30.

Before he could pull it out, Jonas had uppercutted him in the jaw, sending him flying against the wall.

Jonas stomped down the hallway just in the seconds preceding a single shot, and he collapsed, blood oozing from a bullet hole in his leg. Caradoc turned down the other side of the hallway, where Esclados was holding an assault rifle.

"Please, just let me go!" Jonas shouted from where he was sprawled on the ground.

"Why?" Caradoc asked, picking himself up and holding his jaw, which throbbed in pain. "Just tell us!"

"I can't!"

Esclados pulled the phone from his hand. He read something for a moment before handing the device to Caradoc.

On the screen, a short text email read:

 _Palace of Versailles, noon today. Come alone, or she dies._

Attached to the message was a picture of a dark-skinned girl bound and gagged in the back of a truck, a pleading look in her eyes. Even with the duct tape over her mouth, he could see the resemblance to Sagramore.

"You have to let me go."

"We'll go together," Caradoc said.

"They'll kill her," Jonas said through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to fucking let that happen!"

"Obviously not," Esclados said. "And how did you plan to get to Versailles in two hours, Jonas? We would have called the cops on you."

Jonas said nothing.

"Look," Caradoc said. "We'll go together, and we're going to get her back." He gave Esclados the phone. "Comb over that picture, see if you can get anything."

Esclados took the device from him and went back down the corridor.

"I can't go like this," Jonas said, looking at his bleeding leg.

"You can. You're just not meeting them."

"They'll kill her!"

Caradoc removed the pocket square from his coat, and unfolded it. "Oh, trust me, they won't."

* * *

Tahal felt the buzz of his phone through his suit, and answered it through his bluetooth earpiece. "Yes?"

"I need Garth and Antoine back," Diana said. "I'm about to launch the last part of the plan."

"I don't think that's possible."

"Where'd you put them?"

"Calm down, Diana. They're doing one last job for me. You, on the other hand, should stay put. I'm sure the other Council members agree."

"What's that supposed to mean, you son of a bitch?"

"What I mean is, your little venture with Marcel and Jade failed. He's in jail and she's six feet under."

"So?"

"So I'm taking over. Just a few hours ago the Council voted you out as head of operations, and I was appointed."

"I wasn't informed. You can't do this."

"You failed, Diana. That's all that matters. Me? I'm not going to fail. Have a nice day." He cut the connection just as Diana was going to speak.

Instead, he called Garth. "How's it going?"

"We're loaded and ready to go," Garth said. "And did you just wire a million dollars into my bank account?"

"Call it a little gift for your cooperation," Tahal said. "Antoine's got the same thing. You can proceed with the operation now if you like."

"I'll call it in. What about Diana?"

"The Council voted her out while you were working hard. I'm in charge now. Maybe one day you can achieve the same thing."

"I'll keep that in mind. Harker's guys are getting restless here, you know."

"Then put take them with you. Just in case."

"Just in case," Garth repeated. "I'll call you after it's done."

"Thank you. Say hello to Antoine for me, will you?"

"Alright." He hung up.

Tahal pocketed his phone, and stared out the window of his penthouse. Below, Dubai gleamed and twinkled in the afternoon light. A cloud of dust was on the horizon, approaching the city.

He smiled. It was a perfect day.

* * *

Caradoc felt completely exposed in the grey hoodie sweater they had bought just ten minutes ago at the corner store. He touched his cheek again. _All good_ , he thought, and made his way to the burly man who had been eyeing him for a minute now.

The man wasn't carrying anything visibly, but he could see a small bulge just under his left armpit - a shoulder holster.

"Where is she?" Caradoc asked.

"Not here." His right hand reached into his jacket and pulled a shiny silver gun, pointing it at Caradoc. A Wildey.

Caradoc grabbed the man's wrist and spun to the side just as he fired, the pistol's massive recoil jarring his hand against the slide. He rammed his knee into the man's groin, and landed a right hook across his face.

He collapsed in a heap among the panicking tourists.

Caradoc sprinted back across the stone square, leaping over the a barricade and ducking as a policeman's bullet flew over his head.

Jonas opened the backseat door of their stolen car, and he dove in, half-crashing into Jonas and pulling the door shut behind him. A bullet ricocheted off the car's chassis, and Esclados took off, the vehicle making a one-hundred-eighty degree turn before shooting out onto a street.

Caradoc took a few deep breaths, and exhaled. "Shit, that was fast."

"She's got to be around here," Jonas said, peering out the window."

"Actually," Esclados cut in, "she's probably not. They've no reason to keep her around here. We'll find her."

"We've no more leads," Caradoc said, rubbing his left wrist where the Wildey's slide had smacked it. "Maybe we should go and help Val."

"She specifically told me not to let you."

"I know that. At least just tell me where she is."

"I can't do that. Jonas, at least we know you're not the mole. I guess we both owe you a massive apology."

"Doesn't matter; who was that guy?" Jonas' brow was furrowed. "Another Legionnaire?"

"No," Caradoc said. "One of Harker's. He tried to kill me back in Amsterdam."

"You can take that off now, you know?"

"Oh, sorry." Caradoc reached up to his face and to his right temple, where his fingers found a slight corner. He slipped his fingers under it, and tore off the thin cloth that was his pocket square off his face. Jonas' features, which were projected on the cloth, vanished.

"Suddenly, you look a lot less handsome."

"Oh, shut up."

"Seriously though, we need to find Karlien."

"Saving the world is number one priority," Esclados said. "And we can't do that as long as the mole is loose somewhere."

"It's not mine."

"It should be. Would you really risk the fate of the world for one girl?"

Jonas crossed his arms. "I would, actually. I'm not an insensitive bastard like you, and neither is Dirk."

"What?" Caradoc raised his eyebrows.

"Tell him, Dirk. You would let the world burn, wouldn't you?"

"As a Kingsman, I'm afraid I can't let that happen. Saving the world is number one priority," he repeated.

"Oh, quit lying. I've seen you look at Valerie."

"In the long run, I'd choose saving the world over her."

"Really, would you? Esclados, you think he would?"

After a long pause, Esclados shook his head. "No, he wouldn't."

"Now you're just ganging up on me," Caradoc said. "It's a my first and foremost duty to operate to ensure that the world is safe. Feelings have nothing to do with that."

"You bought her flowers."

"One, that's none of your business, and two, how the fuck would you know that?"

"I have access to every agent's phone, remember? There was a receipt for a bouquet you didn't get to pick up."

"Thanks a fucking lot. Can we talk about something else?"

"See?" Jonas gestured at Caradoc. "He has feelings for her. That might jeopardise any missions in the future you guys have. So why is he still operating but you won't let me find Karlien?"

"Fucking unbelievable," Caradoc muttered.

"Dirk is essential," Esclados said. "With whatever the hell it is that they're planning, his experience is an asset."

"Finally, thank you."

"But I'm going to file a report to Arthur. After this blows over, you're going to be under review by Uther."

Caradoc said nothing.

"If he finds you fit for duty, Dirk, then good for you. But if he doesn't...there's a very good reason there aren't a lot of retired agents."

He nodded, and simply stared out the window.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

The machine gun fire began the moment Gawain stepped into the compound, denting the heavy metal shutter that had fallen down and fenced her in a moment ago. She sprinted along the wall to her left, umbrella in hand, swatting workers away and taking cover behind some containers.

"Miss Izaks!" Garth's voice exclaimed over the PA system. "How nice of you to join us. Why don't you just surrender?"

Her hand went to the buttons on her glasses, and pressed the one that would link her with Esclados.

Static.

"You have ten seconds to surrender. After that, I'm going to stop playing nice. Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Gawain flicked aimed her pistol to the right, towards the corner of the container box.

"Seven! Six!"

She turned and aimed it at the left.

"Five! Four! Three!"

Something clattered against the container beside her. Gawain turned, saw the fragmentation grenade and kicked out with one foot, sending it clear of herself, bouncing off another container and back around the right corner.

The grenade went off with a deafening _bang!_ and Gawain turned back to the left corner, blowing a hole in a mercenary just as he emerged.

 _Thun-thun-thun_.

Gawain aimed upwards and fired, her bullets ricocheting off Antoine's umbrella. She got up and rounded the corner to her right, jumping over the bodies of the mercenaries who had been shredded by the grenade.

"It's futile, Miss Izaks!" Garth boomed. "Just give up and we might not kill you!"

 _Right_ , Gawain thought to herself. She opened her umbrella just as a pair of Harker's men leaned out from cover, their TAR21 and MP7 spitting fire. Gawain twisted the handle, changing the setting to "Shotgun", and-

Her right shoulder jerked back as a bullet entered and exited it.

She rolled left and raised her umbrella as Antoine emptied his entire clip at her. With a pull of the trigger, she fired a hail of shotgun pellets at him.

The umbrella opened just as she fired, deflecting the bullets.

Gawain took steps back, watching Antoine drop down from atop the container, slamming a new clip into his pistol, and Harker's men rounding the corner to stand beside him.

"I really don't want to kill you," Antoine said.

"Well, I personally want to kill you," Gawain said. "That's Charlemagne's umbrella."

"Your technology moved on without me." I simply found another way of leveling the playing field; is that how you say it?"

Gawain changed her umbrella setting to "Lethal", swung the targeting reticle towards one of the mercenaries and pulled the release button. As he dropped, she moved the reticle to the other one and fired again.

Antoine was suddenly in front of her, a sword in his hand, and he thrust it through the umbrella material, the tip whistling just past her right ear.

She twisted her own umbrella handle, the sword scraping out of its scabbard. Gawain kicked what remained of her umbrella away, leaving it hanging on Antoine's weapon. She twirled her sword and praised her pistol.

Antoine ducked under her first shot, swinging the sword in a wide arc towards her abdomen. She jumped back a little, arching her body to avoid the blade. Her sword came up, catching Antoine's as he brought his sword down.

Gawain pointed her pistol at his head and fired a few times, only for him to bend his neck sideways, the bullets flashing past his head.

The barrel of Antoine's pistol jammed itself against her ribs, and she felt as if a heavy object had just smashed into her chest, driving her back.

Something felt wet.

Gawain kicked out with one leg, connecting with Antoine's own thigh and making him stumble back. She brought both her feet together, clicking the heels just as Antoine managed to re-aim is pistol.

In the smoke cloud that formed, Gawain rolled sideways, avoiding the ricochet of the bullets on the concrete ground. She threw open a door and ducked inside, to a dark warehouse with shelves stacked high with crates. She ran down one of the aisles, slipping in between two large wooden boxes.

Antoine's footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

She moved her hand to her chest, to where Antoine had fired against her, and found a hole in her jacket. A slug was nestled inside, but couldn't penetrate the shirt.

The wet something, she found, was her own blood.

Antoine's bullets hadn't managed to pierce her bulletproof suit, but the impact had been enough to drive her flesh against the metal plate in her ribcage.

 _No,_ she thought. _He aimed for it._

"Valerie, do the smart thing. You're outmatched and outgunned and your swordfighting skills are crap. No offense," he added.

She said nothing, ejecting the clip in her pistol and counted the bullets. Two rounds gleamed inside the magazine.

"I've a lot of grenades, you know. Not your fancy cigarette ones, but actual grenades. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

With a loud _boom_ , the crate across the aisle from her was blown to splinters, soda bottles tumbling out and shattering.

"Was that good? Did you see that?"

Gawain raised her pistol and pointed it out of the crack she was in, aiming at the second shelf, at head height.

"I know you've two bullets left; yes, I counted." His footsteps neared the boxes she was between. "Me? I've _five_ more mags."

Her hand shook in front of her.

"You think you have the element of surprise, but that's wrong. I know exactly where you are."

Antoine's pistol poked around the corner, his finger squeezing the trigger.

Gawain ducked and grabbed the gun, twisting it upwards and pulling the trigger until it _clicked_ , and broke into a sprint into the aisle. The edge of Antoine's sword sliced across the back of her jacket, cutting it open. Behind her, she heard the _clacks_ of Antoice ejecting his old clip and slapping in a fresh one.

The door was only a few metres ahead of her, and at that range, he might not be able to land a headshot-

She suddenly heard gunfire from outside.

The "Exit" sign above the door exploded, sparking.

Gawain leaned forwards, putting all her momentum into one shoulder, and burst through the door.

Jonas stared straight at her through the scope of his Accuracy International AX50, from where he stood next to a Huey. "Val, Duck!"

Gawain threw herself onto the ground, her ribs hitting the concrete and sending a jolt of pain through her entire body.

A brilliant orange flame blossomed out of the end of Jonas' sniper rifle, and the .50 calibre bullet exited the barrel spinning, travelling through the air over Gawain's prone form, through the doorway and straight into Antoine's chest.

Gawain opened her eyes, to see Caradoc leap out of the helicopter and sprint towards her. She turned over and looked back through the doorway, where Antoine laid with a massive hole in his chest.

 _Karma's a bitch_ , she thought, before getting up and dusting herself off.

Cardoc wrapped his arms around he so tightly the flesh wound in her shoulder was beginning to throb. "You're okay?" he whispered into her ear.

"I'm not going to be if you don't stop squeezing me."

"Sorry." Caradoc let go of her and gave her a smile. "I'm just glad you're okay, that's all."

"Where's the shooting coming from?"

Caradoc pointed up.

Gawain tuned her vision skywards to see a Eurocopter Tiger strafing in the air, its machine gun firing at Harker's men, who were obscured from her by the containers outside the warehouse. "Who's flying that?"

"Michael," Jonas said. "Let's get out of here!"

"No, wait! Garth's in there." She pointed at the office building on the other side of the complex. "Can you tell Michael?"

Jonas' hand went to his earpiece, and he shook his head. "Some sort of jamming signal.

"Doesn't matter; I called in reinforcements," Caradoc said, looking up again. "Oh, here they come!"

With a roar, a large grey transport airplane flew overhead, and out of its open cargo ramp, three figures in black HALO suits fell.

"Galahad, Lancelot, and...who's that? Perceval?" Gawain asked, hands on her hips.

"No. Nassor."

"Isn't he undercover?"

"Not since Harker turned himself in." The figures in the air were jerked up slightly as black parachutes blossomed out of their packs, and they drifted towards the compound. "So I called him in."

Jonas' rifle went off.

"What are you doing?"

Jonas fired another deafening round...straight into the support struts of a radio tower. "Taking down the jammer!" With one last shot, the antenna, like a drowsy giant, toppling over a stack of containers and crushing its transmitters in the process.

Galahad connected to them immediately. "Three of you, a pair of cargo ships are heading out west. We'll take Garth, you go stop them."

"Affirmative," Caradoc said. "Heading there now."

"I'm going to find Karlien," Jonas said, running off between the containers.

Gawain ran towards the pier, where two massive cargo vessels were steaming out of the harbour. "Shit, they're too far away."

"Thank you, captain obvious," Caradoc said, jumping into the driver's seat of the closest speedboat, which was painted blue. "What are you waiting for?"

Gawain chuckled and climbed in next to him. "Hit it!"

The boat shot off towards the closest cargo ship. "Which one?"

"There aren't any life signs on the closer one," Merlin said over the the comms. "Go for the other one."

"How many on that one?" Gawain asked.

"Two."

"Easy peasy," Caradoc said. He pulled the boat up next to the other cargo ship's ladder. "Jump!"

Gawain leapt off the edge of their boat, and grabbed one of the middle rungs, scaling it quickly and rolling up onto the deck. "Merlin, where's the closest lifesign?"

"Bridge," he replied. "The other one's in the engine room."

Caradoc climbed up onto the deck. "Let's go." He put put hands on the wheel of a door in the superstructure and turned it. "We should split up," he said.

"No." Gawain placed a hand on his shoulder. "We stuck together remember?"

Hesitantly, Caradoc nodded. "Engine room or bridge?"

"Bridge."

The heavy door swung open, and Gawain flew up the stairs, her pistol in front of her.

"Still in the bridge," Merlin said. "Whoever it is, they're not moving."

Caradoc and Gawain took either side of the bridge door. "Ready when you are," he said.

"I'm ready," Gawain replied. She grabbed the wheel of the door, spun it, and pulled it.

Caradoc leaned in, gun aimed and ready to shoot.

He didn't fire.

Gawain poked her head in the doorway.

Karlien Ahlers was tied to a chair and gagged in the middle of the ransacked bridge, a pleading look in her eyes.

Caradoc walked over to her and pulled off the duct tape covering her mouth.

"Help me!" she shouted instantly, struggling against her bonds.

He produced a pocket knife and sliced through the thick ropes.

Karlien buried her face into Gawain's chest and sobbed. "Please get me out of here!"

With a loud clank, the bridge door swung closed, and the wheel spun, locking itself. The radio began producing static.

Caradoc walked over to the radio console. "Everything's broken but this."

"Answer it," Gawain said, stroking Karlien's hair.

Caradoc lightly pressed on a button.

"Hello, Mister Beumers, Izaks. I see you've found Miss Alhers. Too bad none of you will be leaving this place," a familiar voice said.

"You son of a bitch," Gawain whispered. She set Karlien on the chair and walked over to the console.

Caradoc was staring, appalled, at the radio. "How did I _not_ see this coming?"

"Because I'm good at what I do," Doctor Fischer said through the radio. "Now, do me a favour and die."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"You're the leak," Caradoc said. "I don't know how you did it, but you must be."

"Correct," Fischer said. "It was as easy as taking candy from a baby."

"How?"

"There's no point telling you now, since the four of us are going to die."

Gawain pushed him aside and leaned into the radio. "You did all that just to kill us? That's pathetic."

"Hold your tongue, girl," Fischer sneered. "This ship is filled to the brim with antimatter vials and potassium nitrate. It only takes one to set it all off."

"Kingsman will live on after us," Caradoc said. "There's no point in blowing us up."

"Oh, but you aren't the point."

"Then what is?"

"Do I sound like a Bond vi- ah, screw that. It's no use to you anyway. Do you remember the chaos of V-day?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Not to the world. To your organisation. We thought it would be the end of you, finding that Mr. King was one of Valentine's. But you survived. You clawed your way to his base in the mountains and killed him and his lovely assistant."

"Get to the point," Gawain demanded.

"I will. Thing is, without Arthur, your organisation is in disarray. Which is exactly what I intend to do: put the last nail in the lid of the coffin."

"You'll fail."

"Maybe you'll see when I sail this ship into the New York harbour and detonate it."

"And how long until then? It'll take you days to get to New York, and we could just blow this ship before then," Caradoc said. "In the grand scheme things…" He glanced at Gawain. "...our lives don't really matter. It's who we save that does."

"Look out the window."

Gawain scrambled to the bridge viewport. "I don't see anything...oh shit."

"What?"

She turned to him, the blood draining from her face. "There's a fucking battleship out there flying the American flag."

* * *

Jonas peered through the scope of his sniper rifle, from his perch in the helicopter. "They're on the bridge!"

"The heck is taking them so long?" Urien asked from the pilot seat.

"I don- holy shit! Urien, land us on the deck!"

"I can't do that."

"Just do it! Now!"

"If we do that, we die. Look in front of us."

Jonas leaned and peeked over the edge of the helicopter door. A large grey shape was cutting through the water towards them. "How the fuck did they get that?"

"I'm turning around. Close the door."

"But Karl- okay, that's fine. I've an idea."

"Is it going to kill us?"

"It might kill everyone."

* * *

"Why are you even doing this, doctor?" Caradoc asked. "Is it just to destroy Kingsman? Don't you know what we do?"

"I know precisely what your organisation does, Mr. Beumers. But the problem is, you stand in the way of greater things."

"Like what? Like Valentine?"

"Valentine wasn't exactly one of us. We tried to persuade him, but he was convinced the world was doomed."

"Is that what you do? Save the world?"

"Yes, albeit in a different way than Mr. Valentine. He planned to destroy, while we simply wish to recreate and reconstruct."

"And who's we."

"The Cabal aims to preserve humanity, and if we cannot save the world, we cannot do that. And you're in the way. Enjoy your stay."

The radio switched itself off.

"Are we still jammed?" Caradoc asked.

"We are. Windows are bulletproof, so I can't smash through."

Caradoc stared at the redness that was beginning to creep out of the edges of her jacket. "Val, you're bleeding."

"I know." She unbuttoned her jacket, touching the wound with one hand and wincing. "Shit, must have been the adrenaline…"

"Val, sit down! You're not bleeding out on me."

She plodded over to the wall and slid down it. "You don't have to fuss over me, Dirk. I can take care of myself."

"You don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Val, I love you."

Gawain froze and just stared at him. The expression of shock then morphed into one of anger. "You have the best timing ever."

"I just thought I should say it, before we die. So at least you know." He went and sat next to her. "We could have been a lot of things, you know."

"You were the one who called it off."

"I know that. It's just...life isn't the same without you anymore." His hand found hers on the floor of the bridge. "Please, Val."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sure you remember the reason we broke up."

"Uther? Let him. Three years ago, I woke up, and I found out I was lying to myself, Val. Lying to myself! That I was going to sacrifice you to save the world. Because I can't fucking do it." Caradoc glanced at Karlien, then back at Gawain. "Don't you feel the same way?"

She said nothing.

"Please, Val."

"Our duty-"

"Don't give me any of that crap. You said yourself that if you ever had children, you'd want them to have nothing to do with Kingsman. We can retire, run away together somewhere and do whatever we want."

"If we survive this."

"When we survive this," Caradoc corrected. "Come on, once we deal with this, Uther and Arthur and all of them. It's just us, against them. And we'll win."

"I…" Gawain closed her mouth. Her eyes darted around the room, to Karlien, and then back at Caradoc. "You're right." She leaned in towards him.

He leaned towards her.

"Caradoc!" Merlin's voice came over the radio.

He sighed, and rocked back on his buttocks, cursing under his breath. "Great, great timing, Merlin!"

"Your problem. Your friend Jonas just called me with the most batshit insane plan I've ever heard."

"What?"

"He's going to swoop in and pick the three of you up, and fly out."

"There's a huge-ass battleship right outside, remember? He's not going to make it."

"That's why we're going to use Michael as the bait. Once they start shooting at him, Jonas can go in and get you."

"But Mich-"

"Is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the world. Shame, he would have made an excellent Kingsman."

Caradoc glanced at his partner.

"Do it," Gawain said. "But don't pick us up. Get Karlien out of here, and we're going to go below decks to try disarm the bombs."

"No," Merlin said. "We can launch a missile at the ship to take it out."

"That's even worse," Caradoc cut in. "It'll blow up the Americans. Then what? World War Three? No, the Cabal - Garth's people - they're probably going to nail this on us. You have to let us try."

"That's okay, but you only have an hour. After that. I'm blowing the ship."

"Thank you. Can you unlock the door?"

"Not unless you can find a USB port to plug me into the ship's systems."

"Well, the bridge's been sacked. As in, someone's gone over it with a sledgehammer makeover."

"Just a functioning one will do."

Caradoc ducked under the console, but saw no ports. "Come on," he muttered to himself and he pushed apart debris and broken glass from the displays.

"Got it!" Gawain produced a flash drive on a Kingsman keychain and plugged it in. It made a soft beeping sound as Merlin connected.

"Ah," Merlin said. "I can open the door, and I can stop the engines."

"Just do the first one," Gawain said. "If you stop the ship, they'll know something's wrong."

With a heavy sound, the wheel on the bridge door turned.

Caradoc pulled the door open, and looked at Karlien. "Jonas is coming to pick you up, okay? Follow me."

She nodded and tailed him out into the corridor, and down the stairs. He opened the door to the deck, just as the black Huey he had arrived in lowered itself close to the deck, and Jonas reached out.

Karlien grabbed his hand and was pulled up into the aircraft.

Caradoc gave Jonas a thumbs-up, and watched as the helicopter ascended, tilting towards the port once more. He re-entered the superstructure, drew his pistol and stared down the steps that led into the belly of the ship.

"Time to end this," Gawain said.

* * *

"Okay, Mike, I got Karlien, you can move out of there now."

"Doesn't matter; I'm fucking screwed."

"What?"

"There's a LaWS on the deck."

"What?"

"Laser weapons system, designed to take down aircraft. It's turning towards me right now."

"Holy shit."

"I'm not going to make it."

Jonas pursed his lips, holding Karlien close to him. "I'll see you when I see you, Michael."

"Same here."

Then, there was only static.

* * *

Caradoc discharged his weapon at the same time as Gawain, hitting Fischer multiple times in the chest, in unison. The scientist fell on his back, his laptop skittering out of his hand and across the floor.

Caradoc crouched next to him. "Doesn't feel so nice, does it, doc?"

"F-f-f-fuck y-you," Fischer managed, before going limp, his eyes staring at the empty space beside Caradoc's face.

Gawain picked up the laptop, flipping it open. "Needs a password."

Caradoc tossed her his own flashdrive, which she plugged into the USB port in the side. The screen flickered, and became black space with text running down it. After a minute, a dialogue box popped up.

Biometric security. Put his finger on the touchpad.

Caradoc grabbed Dr. Fischer's stiff hand, and placed his index finger on the little rectangle at the bottom of the touchpad.

The lines on the screen ran again, and the drone of the ship's engines ceased, and the ship came to a stop.

He stood up, smiling at Gawain. "I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's over." He gave Fischer's head a little kick.

"It's not over," she said. "The Cabal is still out there."

Another box appeared on the screen:

And Garth escaped.

"But," Caradoc said raising a finger. "I think we've more than earned our rest. So I'm going to call it quits for this week!"

The laptop beeped. "Not so fast," Merlin said. "I've got a lead on the other members of this Cabal."

"What?" Gawain asked.

"The ship that was airlifted from Singapore. It's used only by the military, so we should investigate who exactly sent it here."

"Let the team there handle it," Caradoc said. "How long until you can pick us up?"

"Well, Jonas' helicopter just ran out of fuel, and Michael's...Michael's dead, so about an hour. Why?"

"Nothing. Thanks you." He slammed the laptop screen down on the keyboard, putting it into a sleep mode.

"What now?" Gawain asked, crossing her arms.

"Well…" He took her hand in his. "A lot can happen in an hour."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, and locked lips with him.

The End

"Mr. Harker, isn't it?"

...or is it?

Epilogue coming soon.

 **Ending song:** Luke Shay ft. Jeremy William - Up and Away


	31. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Desmond Harker looked up from his paperback novel, to see a cream-suited man pull a chair up in front of his cell.

"I've heard a lot about you."

"If you're from the force or the KLPD then I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, I'm not . I'm just interested in how a man of your calibre could end up in a place like this."

"Are you one of Garth's?"

"I assure you, I've no love for that man and his little cabal. I'm here, Mr. Harker, to offer you a new job."

"There's one problem: I'm in jail."

"That can be fixed."

Harker looked up again and shut his novel, tossing it onto the hard mattress of his bunk bed. "I'm sorry?"

"I said 'it can be fixed'. I can get you out of here, on one condition."

"I work for you?"

"Exactly. It's what I was offered twenty years ago. And now I'm extending that you you." The man leaned closer to the bars. "So what do you say, Desmond?"

"What's the job?"

"Oh, you know, your specialty. Getting things from point A to point B without...without attracting attention of some nosy people."

"I don't do that anymore."

"Of course you do! And you probably will when I add a nice summer house in Cuba to the equation."

"I'm listening."

The suited man smiled. "Excellent." He reached a gloved hand through the bars. "I'm Jim Sarcos, nice to meet you."

* * *

Holly was on the brink of dipping into the dark void of sleep when the nurse signal went off. She blinked, rubbing her eyes and going over to the bed.

Oberon had the remote in one hand, and he was soaked in sweat.

"You're awake," she said.

"Did I...what happened?"

"You got knocked out. Practically comatose. But the doctors said you'll be okay. And you are, right?"

"Where's doctor Fischer?"

"He's dead."

"What?"

"Turns out he was working for Garth." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be gone for a few days, that okay?"

"Gone? To do what?"

"To help Arthur train the second wave of recruits."

Oberon smiled. "You got the position, didn't you?"

Holly smiled, looking up as the nurse entered. "Just a few days. It'll be good to be back home again."

"Make me proud, _Maleagant_."

"You can count on me."

* * *

A right hand burst from the water, wrinkled from being submerged for so long, and clamped onto the edge of the wooden dock. A second hand emerged, and grabbed the plank next to the first, both working to move a body out of the water.

"You're late."

Michael Bishop coughed, spitting water onto the dock, and looked up at the figure in the shadows. "And you were so much help."

"You said it was a solo mission."

"It's over now. Let's go home."

"Did you get what you came for?"

"If you're talking about closure, no. And I don't think I'll ever get it." He got to his feet and staggered towards the figure.

"I meant did you identify him?"

"Then yes, I did."

"Good work. Let's go home."

* * *

After an excruciating two hours, the door to Tahal's office opened, and a grey-haired Texan stepped in. "You're lucky."

Tahal sighed in relief. "And I thought karma was catching up."

"You still believe in that bullshit?" The Texan crashed on the armchair Tahal had placed in a corner of his room. "Diana can't do anything to you. To _us_."

"Why didn't they?"

"You didn't fail. Not exactly, I mean. You got the leader of their French branch, and they're no closer to finding us."

"But Antoine and Fischer are dead and Marcel is in prison."

"The last one can be changed."

"Perhaps. But he's worthless now that they know him."

"You said you had a plan?"

"It's still going on. Tomorrow, I'm putting Phase Three into action, with or without their approval."

"And the elections?"

"My friends can take care of that."

The Texan stood up and went to the door. "Everything well?"

"Now that I'm not going to be removed from the helm, yes. You here tomorrow?"

"I'm here till your friends get to work."

Tahal nodded, and watched as the door to his office closed. He pressed a button on the microphone on his desk. "Send in the Phase Three documents, please."


End file.
